Turnabout Tactics: Mens Rea
by The Erudite
Summary: Robin LeBlanc is an upstart attorney, granted a firm all his own by his vanished mentor. Well... "firm" might be overstating it, since it's just the building and one secretary. When Robin gets a call from an old friend one evening, his world and the legal world in Ylisse begin to change forever. AU. Rated T for some violence/blood and mild language.
1. The Blacklight Turnabout: Investigation

[October 2nd, 2:56 am. LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices]

The office was coated in a dark blue, in those areas that caught little shafts of light from the old blinds that bent and didn't cover the entirety of the window. Otherwise, outside and inside the building was mostly blackness, making most of the topography of the little room indiscernible. The young attorney was sprawled out on the old leather sofa that sat in the middle of the room. It was maroon, and worn and sagging in numerous spots due to overuse, but with a throw pillow placed lovingly on the armrest, it made as good a spot as any other to sleep. Of course, his bed was only a few feet away, in the next room, which was locked tightly during business hours, but he lacked the energy: papers were strewn about the handsome little glass and mahogany coffee table that was the office's lone indicator of any air of professionalism. Some of them were legal in nature, developments in case law of which an attorney would need to keep apprised, but most were bills, menacingly circled and underlined in thick red ink. Their edges were folded at random, and they were only loosely organized in order of due date.

At once, a white light filled the center of the room, casting that same bluish glow on the office's features. Seconds later, it was accompanied by a small electronic tone and the sounds of vibration. The young attorney's eyes strained against the sudden bright light as he groped blindly for his phone. Eventually, to his great relief, he found it, and tapped the button on the screen, pushing it to his ear. "Mmhello?" he muttered into it, his voice hoarse. The voice on the other end sounded familiar, but the attorney's eyes remained closed, and he failed to process the information over the incredibly powerful desire to remain asleep.

"Are you listening to me, Robin?" the voice finally demanded. Robin assured the caller that he was, and allowed the conversation to continue with a few mutters of interest so as to pretend he was paying careful attention to the story. He caught only blurbs, but they were enough. When prison was mentioned, his ears pricked up. "So... you're there right now?" the attorney mumbled, itching his temple. "Yeah," he repeated into the phone a few times as inquiries were made. "Well, don't talk to anyone else," his dazed attorney's mind counseled, "Just... just tell 'em you're waiting for your lawyer. You don't have to say anything." He yawned. Concern dripped into his ear from the other end. "I know," he said in a way that was not as common as his still-sleeping mind presumed, "They won't let me in this late. In the morning. Yes... Yes... Uh-huh. Okay, try to get a little sleep. ...I'm sure, but try anyway. ...Don't. Good. Yeah, morning. Bright and early, okay? Okay, g'bye." Feeling blood rushing into his head, the attorney grimaced, tapped his phone, and tucked the item back into his pocket, shutting his eyes and lowering himself onto the throw pillow once more.

[...]

[October 2nd, 9:03 am. LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices]

A gust of air stirred up a few locks of his hair. The young attorney felt his eyelids squeeze and he subconsciously pushed up from the pillow, swiping a paw at his face, in part to obscure the daylight and in part to quickly remove any drool that might have emerged in his sleep. He smacked his lips together a few times and fluttered his eyelids to ensure that he was really awake, then sat up and grasped the couch, unsure of himself in sitting still for a few seconds. He gazed dully at the wall until someone steps in front of his view. "Good morning, sunshine," she smirked, her lips dripping with irony.

"Uh, morning," the attorney managed to reply, recovering from the shock. It doesn't take long to understand who he's seeing, however. The woman was tall, curly ruby-red bangs adorning her head, wrapped up into a neat ponytail that hung just slightly below the back. She was dressed in a black sweater, covered by a ruby vest (a favorite of hers) and a warm gray-and-yellow striped skirt that was of a conservative length. She also sported a pair of lethally professional black heels and two gold earrings that swung in a ridiculous fashion whenever she moved. "You're here early, Ms. Vendise," the young attorney coughed out. Anna Vendise, his secretary and financial adviser. Although, to say "his" was unfair: Anna had started working as a secretary for the firm years before Robin had, but with the departure of its founder, Robin was the only one left who could be considered her employer.

"Don't call me that." She smiled, pulling a plastic trash bag out of a cupboard and fitting it into the can that sat by her desk. "You make me feel like your grandma. My name's Anna."

"Sorry," he mumbled, standing up. He went over to his desk, tucked away in a room on the other edge of the central corridor. The desk was a polished maroon wood, very beautiful and official-looking, surrounded by classical and legal literature that made it all the more impressive. Robin would be surprised if he had managed to read even half of those books in his time here. The small placard on the desk designated it to one "Robin LeBlanc," a fair-skinned young man who was a little too eager to jump into a suit, but couldn't stand having to wear a tie. They always choked him. Again, however, it felt insulting to suggest that this desk belonged to him: a few months ago, his office was a stack of binders arranged on the coffee table, and the placard on this desk read "Fado Verlaine." Fado was a significantly more impressive-looking fellow, one that you'd trust with your life from the minute you saw him: cerulean hair, a square jaw with a rugged beard, but large gray eyes, both compassionate and sagely. He was the type of man you could trust with a secret, and with desperation.

A sprightly but untrained attorney inspired strictly the opposite reaction, however. Why Fado had ever decided to grace him with the run of the building, Robin couldn't guess. Maybe the old man could see that the area was going south and Robin was the only sucker foolish enough to be willing to pay to take over the space. That would explain why the building's few other employees also vanished, except for Anna. "And," Robin uttered, stepping back out from the darkened office, "sorry about yesterday. Here you go." He dropped a check onto the desk.

Anna stopped pecking at her laptop and looked down at it. "What's this?"

"Your check," Robin said and shrugged, "I got it sorted out."

Anna grasped the paper and read it carefully: $2,680, made out in her name. "I thought you said you couldn't afford it right now." She eyed the document suspiciously.

"I got it sorted out," the attorney repeated.

She stared at him for a minute, trying to glean something, then gave up and smiled, stowing the check in her purse. "Well, thanks, boss man."

"Don't call me that, either," he requested, "I'm not really... Fado's the boss."

"He did look more equipped to run a joint," she answered sarcastically.

"So," Robin settled himself and let out a sigh, "How are we looking, Ms. Master of Finances?"

"We'll be looking much better when we get ourselves a client." Anna frowned at the empty spreadsheet displayed on her computer, following it up with a disapproving glance at the empty office.

Robin's lip pouted, too, hearing what wasn't really news to him. They had been without a client since the greenhorn attorney took over, and that was quickly becoming a significant problem. But then the young attorney remembered something and clicked his tongue, "That's right."

"What's right?" his secretary glanced up.

He pulled his coat off the rack and slipped it over his arms. "I actually think I might have a client for us."

"Really?!" Anna's eyebrows jumped up in shock.

"Yeah." Robin nodded with less enthusiasm. "I got a call from an old friend last night, she's run into a spot of trouble. Asked me to come down to the detention center; I told her I'd be there first thing in the morning."

"Well, what are you standing around for?" Anna scoffed, "Get going!"

"Obviously," he huffed, "Will you be okay by yourself? It might take a while."

"Oh, no, not time to work by myself in peace," the secretary said, rolling her eyes, "Anything but that."

"Just make sure we're not robbed or something while I'm out." The attorney smiled back. Anna saluted affirmatively and went back to her laptop.

The elevator ride from the eleventh floor of the old building seemed to take forever on that particular day. The elevators were always slow and unreliable, frequently taking several minutes after being called to finally arrive, but today was the worst: Robin hadn't felt the pressure of a deadline in weeks, if not months. When he reached the lobby, cold air was sweeping into the building as people drifting into the space from the streets intermittently threw the glass doors open. Robin pushed past a few of them and made his way down to the parking lot to jump in his old black car, the interior of which was already ten degrees colder than outside. He cranked up the heat as soon as he started it, but the vents always started by spewing a bit more cold air into the vehicle before it warmed up. Robin shivered; the sky stood steel-gray. There was a thirty percent chance of rain.

As he pulled out of the lot and down the street, Robin switched on the radio, which began in the middle of a news report. The attorney liked to listen to talk shows on his usual drives, but the station only broadcast news between 8 and 9 am. He shrugged and listened in.

"...in the murder of Harken Gaetz, a ranking Ylissean military official. Gaetz was beloved by many in the Ylissean military for his brotherly treatment of the men under his command and his strict adherence to codes of honorable conduct. Gaetz was awarded Ylisse's 'Soaring Pegasus' medal last summer for his exemplary leadership during the Plegian terrorist conflicts some twenty years ago. A biography focused on Gaetz's life was reportedly in the works, but now that book will have a sad conclusion. Once again, that's Sergeant Harken Gaetz, 55, murdered in his home overnight. This is Mitchell Konway, reporting for HNB news."

"Thanks Mitchell," a different broadcaster took over, "and this incident will likely complicate efforts which have been spuriously reported starting last week that the Ylissean government is in talks with Plegia on the idea of creating a supranational organization responsible for bridging the gap and ameliorating tense relations between both nations..."

Robin changed the station. He doubted that. He had learned a lot about Ylisseans in coming to their country to study law, and the most resonant of those lessons was that they were a mixed bag, at best. Some were incredibly kind and magnanimous, like Fado, but others were... Others didn't care much for Plegians. For his kind. And more than anything, their system of justice was skewed. Ylisse had once been a military dictatorship (they called it something else, but that's what it was) and their culture had maintained a few elements of it, namely that defendants charged with capital offenses, such as murder, were presumed guilty until proven innocent. The Ylisseans had tremendous trust in their law enforcement and investigators.

Robin turned down the loud classic rock he had switched to as he pulled up into the detention center parking lot. When he hopped out and entered the door, a few cops stood outside, huddled near the door in heavy coats, sipping steaming cups of coffee. The all glanced sideways at the young attorney as he entered. He tried to give them a friendly wave, but they ignored him. When Robin entered, the cobalt-walled room was not much warmer than outside, but, as was standard procedure, Robin hung up his coat next to a thin, young policeman who gave him a stiff salute. Robin heard family members and friends mumbling through the microphones in front of the plexiglass, plenty of rueful faces and voices sitting on the other side. Once he checked in with the clerk and flashed his license, Robin grabbed a green folding chair and took a seat, looking ahead.

In front of him, a girl with raven-black hair and a disinterested look in her bag-heavy eyes had her brow jump up a bit. She gripped the underside of her seat delicately with her fingers as she adjusted herself, then beamed her eyes forward, waiting. "Hello, Tharja," Robin spoke calmly into the mic.

She flushed and smiled. "Hello, Robin."

"Sorry I couldn't be here earlier," he said, rubbing his neck.

"Don't worry about it," she assured him, "How've you been? You look great."

It was his turn to blush. "Thanks. I'm doing okay, got myself a private firm now."

She gasped and put her palm in front of her mouth. "So soon? Wow."

He smirked. "It's not as wonderful as it seems. Anyway, what are you doing in Ylisse?"

"Didn't I tell you?" She cocked an eyebrow. "I said I was going to follow in your footsteps, get schooled here, and bring that knowledge back home."

"You're not studying law, are you?"

"No, nothing like that. Sociology, psychology, that kind of thing."

"That always seemed more your wheelhouse. Where are you staying?"

"I was with a foster family..."

"'Was...?'"

The raven-haired girl stared at her feet. "Why do you think I'm in here, Robin?"

"I assumed you'd tell me," he said, sitting back.

"They charged me with murder, Robin." She stared at him, eyes gleaming. "Murdering the man who gave me my foster home."

Robin LeBlanc swallowed. "Heavy charge. And you're a Plegian... they can't be happy about that."

"They're not," she agreed, "And he was a soldier, so it's all the worse."

"What's his name?" Robin fished a notepad out of his pocket and readied a pen.

"Harken. Harken Gaetz," she answered.

Robin cocked an eyebrow, "Harken Gaetz? The guy that was in the news this morning?"

"It's in the news?" Tharja bit her lip. "Oh, Grima... they'll be all over me. They'll want my head on a pike."

"Try to keep calm, Tharja," her counselor advised, "Just tell me what happened."

She closed her eyes and bowed her head, "Well, it all started yesterday. I came home from classes, nothing unusual. Typically, I'd go out with a few other Plegians I've met since coming here, and we'd do something... usually just hang out in a café, or something... But I'm getting distracted, yesterday, I felt really sick to my stomach, so I told Mr. Gaetz and his wife that I was going to bed early. I totally passed out when I got in bed, and I slept the whole night away, but I woke up around two in the morning to police yelling at me, shining flashlights and pointing guns."

"That's it?" Robin looked up from his notes.

"That's it," she confirmed, "I don't know what happened to Mr. Gaetz. I only saw his body when I came downstairs."

"Well," Robin supposed, "that doesn't sound like much. Why'd they arrest you, then?"

"What do you mean?" she wondered.

"Evidence," he elaborated, "what have they got that points to you?"

Tharja Anderra shook her head. "If you think they told me, you're crazy, Robin."

The young attorney chewed his lip a moment and nodded. "I guess you're right. It'a a hell of a spot to put you in, though. Do you have Mr. Gaetz's address?"

She gave it to him.

"All right," Robin noted it, "Well... I don't have much to go on, but I'll get down there and check things out." He dropped a white sheet of printer paper into the mail slot beside them. "Mind signing this for me?"

Tharja paused, eyes gleaming again. "Does that mean... you accept?"

The attorney put away his notebook and cocked an eyebrow, "'Accept?' You mean 'will I be your lawyer?' Of course, I thought I had given that impression over the phone."

The girl knitted her fingers together. "W-Well, I wasn't sure, given that there was so much counting against me already... I figured you could find better cases."

Robin scoffed. "I don't think you realize how desperate I really am, Tharja. And besides, this isn't just any old case: this is a favor to an old friend."

She blushed and buried her head in her bangs. "...Thank you." She signed the sheet and pushed it back through the slot. Robin took it and nodded.

"You're welcome." He smiled at her, picking himself up from the chair.

Robin LeBlanc signed himself out and retrieved his coat from the young policeman, and stepped out to find the same group of police still huddled around and drinking their coffee. They still ignored the attorney as he passed by, but he didn't really notice this time. Instead, he hurried into his car and blasted the heat when it turned on. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the office.

A pleasant voice chirped on the other end, "LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices. How can I help you?"

"It's me, Anna," Robin replied.

"Oh." He wasn't sure if she was disappointed or not. "Well, what's up?"

"I'm taking the case," he responded simply.

"Great," her voice grew higher, "What's the name? I can do a little digging."

"Tharja Anderra," he answered.

The phone was silent.

"Still there, Anna?" Robin demanded.

"Not the Tharja Anderra who killed Harken Gaetz?"

"Was _charged_ with killing Harken Gaetz."

"Are you crazy?! That's your first case?! That's committing career suicide before you've even gotten started!"

"So far, I haven't even heard the evidence against her."

"It's bad, Robin, I'm telling you."

"I'll see for myself."

"Robin-"

He tapped the screen. Sliding the phone back in his pocket, Robin pulled out of the lot and headed for the address.

[...]

[October 2nd, 12:32 pm. Gaetz Home]

The house wasn't brilliant, but it wasn't shabby, either. Very "bourgeois," a real estate agent might say, or so Robin thought, anyway. It was a simple brick manse, two stories, windows on each floor. Of course, the driveway was packed full of squad cars, and police tape cordoned off the entryway to the house. As Robin left his car and strolled up the sidewalk, a cobalt-haired man in a long, heavy-looking sea-green trenchcoat that looked to big for him, accompanied by an unconvincingly-tied black tie approached him, a thin, unlit cigarette in his mouth. "Hold it," the man demanded, "Where are you going?"

"Inside, if possible." He smiled weakly.

The young man was not impressed. "It's a crime scene, bud. Can't let just anybody come strollin' through."

The attorney nodded. "That's fair. What if I told you I'm the attorney for the defendant?"

The man leered at him suspiciously. "Got an affidavit, bud?"

Robin opened his coat pocket and produced the document that bore Tharja's signature, handing it over to the young man.

He read it scrupulously, then handed it back after a moment. "All right, looks legit. 'LeBlanc,' huh? Have I heard'a you somewhere before, bud?"

"I used to work for Mr. Fado Verlaine."

"Ah, yeah, Verlaine. Real hard-nosed guy, that one. Liked him. Sad to see him leave, but the show must go on, eh?"

Robin nodded, waiting for the young man to finish his reverie.

"Anyhow," he shrugged and extended a hand, "I'm Detective Colm Fletcher, lead investigator."

"Nice to meet you, detective," Robin took the hand and shook it. After they exchanged pleasantries, he led Robin into the house, pointing out the body of the victim first, not that that really needed pointing out: it was the first thing one saw upon entering the room. A tall, broad-shouldered, muscular blond man, his face hard and stretched with wrinkles, sat slumped over on an old green sofa, a wickedly curved knife stemming out of his chest.

"Cause of death was that little fella, if you can't tell," Detective Fletcher noted, "Very precise stab, right to the ol' ticker. Mr. Gaetz was killed instantly; 'sudden cardiac arrest' is what the eggheads call it, I think."

"The victim was stabbed straight in the heart?" Robin summarized, surprised.

"Yeah." The detective nodded, "Real precise stab, too, no nicks or anything, that we can see, anyway. Autopsy will be later today, but I doubt they'll find much else. There wasn't even a lot of blood."

Robin's attention was diverted as he noticed a scrap of paper, hidden, as it was matted to the dead man's chest. It seemed to bear writing. The attorney walked up and read the note as best he could: "'This lamb dies on the altar of truth.' What's that supposed to mean?"

"Got me," Colm shrugged, "But the knife what killed him is a ritual sacrificial knife. It was kept in the defendant's bedroom here, and it had her fingerprints all over it."

Robin nodded silently. He had something to say about that, but it was better not to interrupt the detective. Any point he could make would be better made in court. "Mind if I just have a quick look around?"

"Sure," the detective assented, lighting his cigarette, "but don't touch anything. Disrupting evidence will land you with a lawsuit all your own, and, of course, your case will be moot. But I don't have to tell you that."

Robin nodded again; he didn't. As he strolled around the house, the attorney drifted into the dining room. He looked over the table, a silk white cloth adorning it. A few brass candleholders sporting scarlet candles sat on top of it. Very ritzy, especially for a military man like Gaetz. But also a trifle dirty: there were some dark spots near the ends of the tablecloth. Someone was hiding them, probably to avoid his wife noticing, Robin chuckled. He drifted upstairs and examined the bedrooms: there were only two, and a big master bathroom sat between them. The bathroom was spotless, most likely cleaned very recently, and thus, not much help. He walked into one bedroom, just a bit smaller than the front room of the house and sporting a split aesthetic: some of the room was dainty and proper, including the lacy white sheets and throw pillows on the bed, but everywhere one looked there was a military uniform or patch hanging on something. Presumably, it was the victim and his wife's room. Robin searched the area carefully, but found no blood or hair, only a few crinkles in the sheets, as if someone had gotten up suddenly that evening.

The attorney proceeded to the other bedroom, Tharja's, and chuckled a bit: it looked like a Plegian cultural exhibition one might see in a museum: she had old Grimleal candles and books strewn all about the room, plus traditional female Grimleal garments on the floor and hanging in her closet, along with some more modest and less extravagant street clothes. Robin noted a pair of nails driven into a high part of the wall by the window, like hangers for something. Perhaps this was where the dagger was meant to sit. The attorney made a mental note and stepped out, finding it a bit stuffy in the room.

As he descended the stairs, Detective Fletcher was waiting for him, smoking. "Find what you were hoping for?"

Robin chuckled, "Not exactly, but I'm certainly no worse off than before."

Colm nodded. "You never do. That's why you just gotta keep lookin'."

The attorney nodded quietly as they left the house. "Are you testifying tomorrow, detective?"

He blew a big puff of smoke. "Hell, I'm the lead investigator, aren't I?"

"Just figured I'd ask," he dismissed, "Do you know who the prosecutor is?"

"Nah," he popped the cigarette back in his mouth, then blew out another puff, "but I don't think it's anyone special. Prob'ly just one o' those old guys who do mostly clerical work."

"Really?" Robin cocked an eyebrow. "They don't want someone big working such an important case?"

"You're overstating it, just like the news." Colm smirked. "It's a bad thing that Plegian chick did, no doubt, and people are pissed, but the case itself is open-and-shut; there's no doubt it was her."

"Maybe." Robin didn't look at him.

"Plus, the prosecutor's office isn't going to waste any of the big names' time with a rookie attorney," the detective added.

Robin cocked an eyebrow. "How'd they know about that?"

"News travels fast." Detective Fletcher shrugged, his cell phone sticking out from his pocket.

The attorney got back into his car. "Well, thanks anyway, Detective Fletcher. See you at the trial."

"Yeah, sure thing, bud." He inhaled from his cigarette.

[...]

[October 2nd, 1:57 pm. LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices]

Robin swung the door open and flung his coat on the rack, sighing and massaging his hands with his face. He had been through this process so many times before with Fado, but now, faced with the prospect of having to assemble a case all by himself, he was completely petrified. He had seen things, sure, but what could he say to an impatient judge and jury that would convince them of Tharja's innocence? Right now, he wasn't even sure he could convince himself: everything did essentially point to the Plegian girl. He couldn't fault the Ylissean police for being prejudiced or anything to that effect: they had made the right arrest, under the circumstances, but a few things remained stubbornly vague: who and where was Gaetz's wife, and what had happened with that knife? Tharja claimed she was fast asleep the entire evening, so someone might have entered the room, but only Harken or his wife would have been present to do so. Robin bit his lip: a Ylissean jury would not accept a suicide or a wife murdering her husband over a Plegian whackjob of a girl. Those were possible, but he would have to play his cards very carefully if he tried to go there.

"Feeling some of the pressure?" Anna quipped, looking up from her laptop.

"I have my work cut out for me," the attorney conceded, "I never dreamt it would be easy, though."

"I still have to lobby against taking such a high-profile case. Who cares what happens to one Plegian girl?" Anna typed away.

"She's a friend," Robin reminded her.

His secretary paused. "Sorry. That was harsher than I meant it to be, but c'mon, do you really think you can convince people that she's innocent?"

"I have to try," he supposed, "she is, after all."

"And how do you know that?" Anna rolled her eyes.

"I trust her." Robin nodded to himself. "There was a certain look in her eyes... Fado taught me to watch for it. Guilty people don't look like she did."

"Whatever you say." The redhead shrugged. "But people are going to hate you regardless of the outcome. Even if she really is innocent, people are going to think you just twisted the facts to find her not guilty."

"Then let them think that," the attorney rebutted, "maybe we can get a few other people in here desperate for us to 'twist the facts' for them."

"Tenacious about this one, huh?" Anna leered over her desk.

"I have to be," the attorney answered. He stood up and proceeded into Fado's old office.

"What are you up to now?" Anna Vendise wondered.

"I'm going to brush up on my trial law," Robin replied, shutting the door and pulling a few of the old books down from the shelves, full of the musty smell of old literature and the complex terminology of legality that made them nigh-incomprehensible even with training and instruction. He would continue reading them long into the evening, hearing Anna's keys jingle as she packed up and sounded a muffled goodbye through the door. When he finished perusing the first book, the clock showed 8:31. Robin got up. He threw together a cheese sandwich and grabbed a soda from the office's fridge and went back to the room, popping open the next text.

[Blacklight Turnabout ~ Day 1, Investigation End]

[AN: Hey folks, thanks for reading! For those of you familiar with "Turnabout Tactics," thanks for coming back! As of right now, my plans for TT are uncertain. I may finish it, or I may let that sleeping dog lie, because I'm doing something with this story that I don't usually do in order to get this one right: outlining. Detailed outlining, too, meaning every testimony and contradiction in this case is already basically written down. As such, I'm hoping to have clearer, more interesting trials where evidence doesn't come out of nowhere like it did in TT. Also, this is, obviously, essentially an AU, so don't be upset if I'm a little loose with some characterizations. In accordinance with my outlining, however, I can tell you that in this chapter alone, you have about 95% of the information needed to solve this case. The rest will be shown in testimony. See you in court! And please, if you'd be so kind, leave a review: it's the only way I get better. And I'd like to see what you're thinking about the case at hand. In any case, I'll be happy for any and all feedback, even if you hate it.

Current plan is to have these updated in spurts, meaning I'll draft the outline one week, then dole out the actual story over a few days. I don't know how frequently this story will be updated, as it has two other schedules to contend with, so consider each story to be mostly self-contained, like the original Sherlock Holmes short stories.]


	2. The Blacklight Turnabout: Trial Former

[October 3rd, 8:47 am, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 2]

The attorney massaged the sides of his head, sighing a little louder than he probably should have. The linoleum tiles and white marble walls felt exceedingly cold today, colder than any time he had been inside the courtroom before. Everything was bright and straining his eyes, especially the buzzing fluorescent lights that reflected in the waxed sheen of the tile. Through it all, a guard or two traipsed through the lobby, pausing to briefly inspect the room, then taking off, sometimes whistling to himself. Any way he thought about it, the sharp, twisting pain in his stomach wouldn't disappear: Robin LeBlanc was nervous. This was his first tim appearing in a court of law, absent the calming presence of his mentor (as well as the reassurance that he wouldn't really be depended upon for much). The clock was ticking closer to zero hour with every second, and Robin felt every twitch of its hands. He cursed himself and tried to wipe his face to find some clarity.

When he moved his hand, Tharja Anderra was frowning and knitting her brow at him. She was in handcuffs, held at her back by a thirty-something police officer who clearly wanted nothing to do with the girl. "Is everything all right, Robin?" she murmured.

 _Smile, dammit, smile!_ A part of Robin's subconscious encouraged him. He did so, forcing a grin, "Oh, I'm just fine, thank you, Tharja."

"Are you sure?" she bit her lip, "You were looking a little pale." She wasn't exaggerating: the attorney's face was the color of a faded pink carpet.

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed, "it's just early, you know? Haven't had my morning coffee yet."

"I thought you didn't drink coffee," his client and friend recalled.

"Uh... yeah," Robin's face sunk.

Tharja frowned, "Do you really think it will be that bad?"

The attorney's eyes jumped wide open, "No! I mean, that's not... Haha! Don't worry so much, Tharja, everything's going to be just fine!"

Her eyes remained disbelieving, but her mouth curved into a half-smile, "A-Are you sure?"

"Well sure I'm sure!" Robin lied, "Just you watch and see: this is going to be the swiftest defense ever! You won't even remember that you were arrested you'll be out of there so fast!"

Tharja chuckled a bit to herself, lowering her head, "If you say so, I believe you, Robin." She gazed at him a moment, smiling fondly.

"All right, let's get moving," the man accompanying her demanded, patting her back roughly.

"Hey!" she growled, "I have a right to speak to my attorney before the trial, don't I?"

"Yeah, but the bailiff's going to be calling any minute-"

"Just give us one more moment, please," Robin asked, looking carefully at his client, "Tharja, I just need to ask you one more thing: are you sure you've told me everything you know?"

The raven-haired girl nodded, "I felt sick, came home from school, popped my window open for some fresh air, and went straight to bed, and when I woke up, it was at two in the morning, when I was being arrested."

Robin nodded sympathetically, recalling her illness, and her probable fatigue, given that the bags under her eyes were even darker and starker than usual. It seemed neither of them had gotten much sleep last night, although it was clearly the defendant who had had a much rougher ordeal. There was something else about her words that struck the attorney, however, something that didn't feel right. When he opened his lips to ask, the impatient guard pushed the girl again. He cursed himself, then fished into his pocket, "Here, Tharja, I got a little something for your stomach." He tossed her a small plastic bottle that rattled as she caught it.

"Handing out drugs in the courtroom?" the guard glared angrily at him.

"They're chewable tablets for upset stomachs," Robin rolled his eyes, "they sell them over the counter. You can check them if you're really that suspicious."

The guard didn't seem to be that interested and gave up. Tharja blushed, staring at the medicine, and simply mouthed the word "Thanks" before being led into the courtroom.

Robin shut his eyes and exhaled. He slowly began picking up his papers and files, packing some less essential material into a neat black leather briefcase he had bought for himself the day he was hired onto the firm. It was expensive, which was why he had every intention of using it thoroughly. Before he could get very far, however, the attorney felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out and answered, "Hello?"

"Hey 'boss man,'" Anna teased, "have you fainted yet?"

"Ha. Ha," he groaned back.

"Just trying to lift your spirits before you get in there," the secretary chirped.

"Well, thanks for trying," the young attorney sighed back, "Is that all?"

"Not quite," her tone was mysterious, "See... uh, and this is kind of silly, but uh..."

"But what?" Robin wondered.

He could hear her embarrassment through the phone, "Well... All right, look, Fado had a... policy before he left, something he did for all the attorneys, you understand, so I'm not just being weird, or anything..."

"Spit it out, Anna," the attorney was eager to hear this.

Anna cleared her throat, "Uh, 'to you, young attorney, who are about to enter the fold for the very first time, be not afraid! You have the entirety of the Verlaine & Co. Law Offices behind you, and if your heart is pure, you have justice as well! Therefore, go forth, use your knowledge, and present the truth!'"

The phone was silent for several seconds.

"Uh, did you get all that, Robin?" Anna mumbled.

Robin laughed, first quietly, a few giggles, and then a raucous explosion into the phone.

"W-Well, you're welcome!" Anna shouted angrily.

"N-No, Anna, I'm sorry," Robin cackled, wiping tears from his eyes, "I just... ha ha... Thinking of Fado talking like that, and you imitating him..." He fell into another burst of laughter, "I couldn't help it... Sorry, thank you."

"Just go win the stupid trial," she spat curtly.

"Thanks, Anna," he sighed, "I appreciate your calling me."

"Good luck," she added, "and make us some money." The redhead hung up the phone.

Robin smiled and looked up. The bailiff emerged from the doors locking off the courtroom, "Mr. LeBlanc? Please come in."

[...]

[October 3rd, 9:04 am, District Court-Courtroom No. 2]

Robin swallowed slightly, feeling a bevy of eyes leering down at him as he set his files down on the desk before him. He glanced about the room, taking a few deep breaths. Behind him sat the gallery, with a few people interested to see the trial, but mostly reporters eager to get the first story of the day. Some snapped photos of Tharja, who was in a small cordoned-off section close to the defense bench. Robin nodded to acknowledge her and she smiled, but quickly hid herself from the paparazzi again. Directly in front of the attorney was the witness stand in front of the judge's bench and facing the jury box. That was the cornerstone of Robin's defense: Ylissean judges needed to confer with and isolate a vote from juries in order to prevent legal absolutism or bias. It didn't prevent discrimination or wrongful conviction altogether, but it was better than the military courts of eras past. Past the witness stand stood a tall, somewhat lanky man with silver-blue hair that was bizarrely sharp. He wore an almost comically small pair of reading glasses on the bridge of his nose and a very ruffled, frilly suit, complete with a silk cravat, all the markings of a man desperately trying to make himself look more significant than he was. His deep burgundy eyes leered carefully at the attorney.

At the tallest bench in the room sat the judge, a generally kindly-looking old fellow with a smooth bald scalp, rounded features, and a prodigious silver beard that hung down over his face and covered his tie along with his robes. His eyes were gray, but still occasionally acute. Yes, the judge seemed an amicable man, but you never felt worse than when you were on the wrong side of his gavel, this much Robin had seen in working with Fado. But now, of course, it was just him.

"Ahem," the judge cleared his throat with finality, "I believe we're ready to begin. Bailiff, would you kindly close and lock the doors? Thank you." The judge pulled up a pair of reading glasses and glanced at his docket, "Now then, today we are hear to hear the trial of Ms. Tharja Anderra. Madam, would you come up here please?" The raven-haired girl was brought to the witness stand, where she glared unpleasantly at the judge. Robin cocked an eyebrow at her and she softened her expression.

"Ms. Anderra, you are charged with the first-degree murder of Harken Gaetz. How do you plead?" the judge glanced down his nose.

The girl looked to her attorney for confirmation, then nodded, "Not guilty, Your Honor."

"Very well," the judge slipped his glasses off and sat back, exhaling, "Then we will begin the trial." After a moment, he sat straight up again, "One thing has caught my attention, however: may I speak to the defense?"

Robin picked his head up, feeling his eyes glaze over and his ears ring, "M-Me, Your Honor?"

He nodded, "Yes, Mr. LeBlanc, is it?"

"Yessir," the attorney assented quickly.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but did you not work for Mr. Fado Verlaine?" the judge asked.

"I did," Robin answered, "Fado- er, Mr. Verlaine was my mentor and, until recently, my employer."

The judge nodded solemnly, eyes shut, then looked again, "I see also that this is your first time presiding over a defense all your own. You must be rather nervous."

The attorney resisted the urge to wipe the sweat from his brow, "I'd be lying if I said I was entirely comfortable, Your Honor."

"Understandable," he smiled, "perhaps we might conduct a little exercise to calm your nerves: can you remind me of the name of the victim in this case?"

"That'd be Harken Gaetz, Your Honor," Robin answered.

"And how was Mr. Gaetz killed?"

"If I recall correctly, according to the police reports, he died of sudden cardiac arrest upon being stabbed directly in the heart."

"Good, very good, Mr. LeBlanc. I can see you've made yourself aware of the facts of the case. Now then... I don't recall your name either. Is this your first time appearing as a prosecutor, Mr...?"

"Canarde," replied the silver-blue-haired man across from Robin, "Virion Canarde. And no, Your Honor, I have appeared in court in... ahem, years past."

"Well then," the judge shrugged, "will you please deliver your opening statement to the court, Mr. Canarde?"

"Certainly," he bowed extravagantly, "and with magnificence! At approximately 4 pm on October first, the defendant returned home from her schooling complaining of a stomachache. Ms. Anderra is a student from Plegia, currently studying abroad and living with a foster family. She was in the care of Mr. ans Mrs. Harken Gaetz. When she returned that afternoon, feeling ill, she retired immediately to her room. In her room, there sat a ritual sacrificial knife. This information will become important later. Mr. Gaetz and his wife remained at home for the rest of the evening, through dinner, and sat down to watch television. At around 10 pm, Isadora Gaetz, the victim's wife, noticed that her husband had fallen asleep and decided to retire to bed, leaving her husband on the sofa. A few hours later, she was awoken by the sounds of footsteps near the defendant's room. Assuming it was her husband climbing the stairs, she ignored it and went back to sleep, but she was awoken not long after by a similar disturbance. Ms. Gaetz assumed this was only the defendant having suddenly woken up and searching for a glass of water, but she decided to check to be certain this time." The prosecutor produced a wicked smirk, "Good that she did, else she might have been in danger. Ms. Gaetz checked Tharja's room only to still find the girl wrapped up under her blankets. She also noticed that her husband had not yet returned to bed, and so went to check on him. When she did, she was filled with horror to discover that the victim had the same dagger from the defendant's room lodged in his chest, accompanied by a note reading as follows: 'This lamb dies on the altar of truth.' At 1:24 am on October 2nd, Mrs. Gaetz phoned the police, who arrested the defendant, who continued to hide in her bed."

"Robin!" Tharja grunted a whisper at her attorney, "Why aren't you objecting, or something?"

"It's just an opening statement," Robin shrugged, "I'm not allowed to, unless he says something outlandish, like making up an accusation. We have to wait for testimony before I can respond."

"Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge called out, "Is something the matter?"

"No," color drained from the attorney's face, "Just momentarily conferring with my client."

The judge nodded without satisfaction, "Very well, but please wait until information is not being delivered to the court."

"Beg your pardon, Your Honor," he apologized.

The judge faced Virion Canarde, "Mr. Canarde, I assume you have evidence to present?"

"Indeed," the prosecutor offered, "I have the dagger used to murder the victim, covered in the defendant's fingerprints and the note that came with it. And further, I have the sworn testimony of the lead investigator on the scene. _C'est magnifique, n'est-ce pas_?"

"Please limit your introductions to English in this courtroom, Mr. Canarde," replied the judge.

He stammered, "Er, right. Apologies. Let's have the detective speak for me, eh? Will you join us, Monsieur le Detective?"

"I guess that's s'posed to be me?" the cobalt mop of Colm Fletcher's hair arrived at the stand, his big green trenchcoat swaying and an unlit cigarette in his mouth.

"Smoking is not allowed in the courtroom, Mr. Fletcher," the judge coughed.

"It's unlit, big boy," Colm shook his head, "nothin' illegal 'bout that, is there?"

"Maybe you should just comply with M. le Judge's request, good detective," Virion smiled weakly.

Detective Fletcher cut a glare at him, "Maybe you should buy yourself a real suit, you dime-store dandelion." Robin blinked in response to the insult: what did that even mean?

Virion seemed rather disgruntled by it, however, grimacing as his face fell. "A-Anyway, would the witness grace us with his name and occupation?"

"Name's Colm Fletcher," the man mumbled through his cigarette, "and, as you seem to have suddenly forgotten, I'm a detective, the lead investigator on Mr. Gaetz's murder."

"Detective, would you mind telling us why you arrested Ms. Anderra?" inquired the judge.

"No prob," the detective pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, flicking it around in his hand playfully and cleared his throat, "So, here's the story: When I arrived on the scene with some of my boys, we found the body exactly as described by Mr. Frills, here. That is to say, stabbed, with the knife he presented pinning the note to his body. The autopsy later conducted by the coroner showed that the stab was precise, professional: it didn't hit any ribs or nothin', just slid straight into the heart. It was only one stab, too, no abrasions from withdrawal of the weapon, just one clean strike."

"Hold it!" Robin demanded, "Detective, are you saying a young female student was the one who performed such a professional attack? How can you think that?"

"You 'hold it,'" snarled the detective, "I was getting there. The defendant here is a major lover of ancient Plegian culture, evidenced by the contents of her room and her clothing. Interestingly, Grimleal priests of the past would often perform sacrifices in order to appease their god, Grima. Can you see where I'm going with this? The priests were instructed to stab straight into the victim's heart, both to minimize suffering and to ensure the purity and integrity of the sacrifice's body. Numerous texts exist on the exact methodology employed by the priests, as it was very popular. If the defendant had read one of these books, she would know the method, and it'd be easy to pull on a sleeping target. As such, that explanation accounts for both the precision of the attack and the note."

"But," Robin protested, "Do you know Ms. Anderra has read such a book?"

"Several of the books on her shelf contain the instructions, as a matter of fact," the detective answered banally.

"But do you know that she read them?"

"If you are unsure, why not ask her yourself, M. LeBlanc?" Virion chuckled, "Enlighten us, Mademoiselle Anderra. Do you know of this process? Remember that you are under oath."

"You don't have to say anything that will incriminate you, Tharja," her attorney rebutted. The raven-haired girl glanced at he prosecutor, detective, judge, and attorney before finally hanging her head, refusing to answer. Whispers came from the jury.

"I can't prove what she knows empirically," Detective Fletcher shrugged, "but for the purpose of this explanation, it's more probable than not, unless you've got a better theory."

"I concede I don't," the attorney shook his head, "but why would Tharja murder her foster father anyway, detective?"

"Good question," Colm smiled, "The girl was known to have a great distaste for the Ylissean military. She hung out with a group of Plegian activists who try to get Ylisseans to include more information about Plegian labor camps in Ylissean history texts. The politics of it don't matter much, just know that she didn't like the Ylissean military. What better way to strike back at them than with the murder of a decorated veteran?" More whispers continued to spread through the crowd. "So, since Ms. Anderra was the only one who had access to that dagger during the evening, and knew the killing technique, combined with the note and her political beliefs, it's a sure thing that's she's the one who killed Mr. Gaetz."

"Thank you, detective," bowed the judge, "Now, Mr. LeBlanc, your cross-examination."

"Yes, Your Honor," the attorney nodded, "Detective, you said Ms. Anderra was the only one who had access to the dagger, but it was in an unlocked room. Couldn't Mr. and Mrs. Gaetz have accessed it just as easily?"

"Yeah," Colm shrugged, "but neither of them knew the technique to stab the victim straight in the heart like that. If they were inexperienced, it would show. And, given the angle the blade went in, it would be pretty impossible for it to have been a suicide."

"But wouldn't it have taken a lot of force to make such a deep stab, regardless of how precise it was?" the attorney hoped.

"I s'pose," Detective Fletcher replied, "but that doesn't rule out he defendant. She's a tough gal, aren't ya, sweetheart?" Tharja growled.

"Did you find any blood on Ms. Anderra?" he pressed.

"No, but there wasn't much blood anywhere," Colm sighed.

"And were there any traces of Ms. Anderra near the scene?" Robin continued.

"Her fingerprints were all over the knife, like I said."

"Sure they were, it was her knife, after all."

"You can play coy all you like, she was the only one who could've used that blade during the evening."

Robin felt himself sweat and scratched his head, running through everything he had learned during the past two days. Suddenly, however, one of Tharja's remarks sprang to mind, "Objection!"

"What's the matter, Mr. LeBlanc?" inquired the judge.

"Ms. Anderra," Robin paused, "she gave me some information this morning that contradicts what Detective Fletcher just told the court."

"I did?" her eyes widened.

"And what was this information, Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge demanded after banging his gavel.

"Ms. Anderra," the attorney passed it off, "what did you tell me you did yesterday?"

She cocked an eyebrow, "I went home feeling sick, went into my room, cracked a window, and went to bed."

"Where is your contradiction, Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge seemed a bit irritated, but more curious.

"The defendant says she 'cracked a window,'" he began. Colm suddenly gasped in shock. "Detective Fletcher seems to understand: if the defendant opened a window, then someone else could have entered her room over night."

"B-But!" Virion Canarde shouted, "The defense has no proof that anyone entered the window!"

"And besides," Colm grunted, "that window was closed when we got there, I know it!"

"Well, I have the sworn testimony of the defendant, who said she did open it," Robin rebutted, "So I guess we can't reconcile this dispute. Er... Your Honor, how should we proceed?"

"Ho ho!" Virion laughed, apparently having recovered, "but M. the Attorney is so utterly mistaken!"

"Do you mean to say you can resolve the question of the window, Mr. Canarde?" the judge's eyes widened.

"I can," he bowed, "or rather, I can present someone else who can. You may step down M. Detective, your performance was _génial_."

Colm Fletcher glared at the prosecutor, but complied and stepped down from the witness stand.

"The prosecution would like to call the victim's own wife, Madame Isadora Gaetz!" a grandiloquent Virion shouted, waving his arms.

"That will do, thank you Mr. Canarde," chuckled a woman's voice. A tall, slender, middle-aged woman strode up to the stand, long sapphire hair flowing behind her. She curtseyed daintily before the gallery and the judge, granting them all a small, polite smile.

"We will excuse madame for revisiting her grief," the prosecutor announced, frowning sympathetically, "but our intrepid attorney has insisted upon it."

"Me?" he doubled back, "You're the one who called her! A-And anyway, Mrs. Gaetz, my only object is to find the truth. I won't let your husband's murderer get away with it."

"Thank you," Isadora frowned, "but I'm afraid I'm relatively convinced of what misters Fletcher and Canarde have said so far today. I don't think it's possible for anyone other than Tharja to have killed my darling..."

"Then allow me to try to convince you otherwise," Robin answered.

"Your name and occupation for the record, madame," Virion urged.

"My name," she sighed into a smile, "is Isadora Gaetz, wife to Harken Gaetz. I used to be a sergeant in the Ylissean Light Infantry, but I retired a few years ago."

"Mrs. Gaetz," commanded the judge, "would you please tell the court what, exactly, you observed on the night of the murder?"

"Certainly," she folded her hands neatly, "It was a rather typical day, nothing much out of the ordinary, until Tharja came home from classes. Usually, she stops in around four, changes and puts her things from school away, and then leaves to consort with some of her friends during the evening, returning around nine or ten. That afternoon, however, she showed up at the door ashen-faced, with her eyes all sunk in; she looked exhausted. She said she wanted to just go lie down, and neither Harken nor I stopped her. Harken and I had dinner with a guest that evening, and then we watched TV for a while. Harken gets very into his sports." She paused to chuckle fondly, then frowned, "At any rate, I think I dozed off watching with him until about ten o'clock. At that time, I found myself awake and aware again, and saw that Harken had fallen asleep, too. I decided not to wake him, he always comes up to bed eventually, and so I shut off the TV and went upstairs to bed. A few hours later, in the wee hours of the morning, I thought I heard someone walking around. It sounded like he or she was on the stairs, so I assumed it was Harken, coming up to bed, so I fell back asleep. Not long after, however, I woke back up and heard the same sound. I also found that Harken wasn't yet in bed, so I wondered if maybe Tharja had woken up and was going to the bathroom or getting a glass of water, something like that. It made me a little uneasy, to keep hearing all these footsteps, though, so I got up and looked, but when I checked Tharja's room, she was in bed and seemed to be sleeping soundly. When I went downstairs, well... you know what I found."

"Could you proffer us a favor, good madame," Virion smiled slickly, "and essay your very best to remember the state of Mlle. Anderra's room at the time of your inspection?"

"Well," she put a finger to her lips, "I don't know how much I remember exactly... the room looked pretty normal... I think, maybe I'm filling things in, but I think I noticed that something was missing from the wall. That would be the murder weapon. Otherwise... it was, drafty, I think. I got kind of an eerie chill on entering."

"Mr. LeBlanc, your cross-examination," the judge ordered.

"Well, what about that?" Robin supposed, "Mr. Canarde, don't you find the witness's description interesting? She said the room felt 'drafty' and 'chilly.' If you went in that room when the window was shut, it would have been much warmer."

"That is hardly proof!" Virion argued, "Perhaps it was the evil aura of that melancholy girl that disturbed her." Tharja stared daggers at the prosecutor, who recoiled in fear.

"While Mr. Canarde's judgments are, perhaps, a bit heavy-handed," the judge looked at the shriveling prosecutor, "I must agree that the witness's statement does not constitute proof that the window was open."

Robin nodded, "I did have another question for you, Mrs. Gaetz."

"Yes...?" she smiled.

"You said you had dinner with a guest... who was that?" the attorney watched carefully.

"Oh," she recalled, "there was a young man, a writer, he wanted to write a biography about my dear Harken. He sent us a letter about a week ago, asking of he could meet us for dinner. We agreed, and so he stopped by that day to ask some questions about Harken's personal life and how he met me. Sweet little fellow."

"Do you remember this gentleman's name?" Robin pressed.

"Oh, I think it was something funny, lots of syllables... Fomortiis. Fomortiis Vigarde," Isadora answered with some difficulty.

"And when did M. Vigarde leave you, madame?" probed Virion.

"Oh, I'd say about eight," she shrugged, "not much later."

"So you see, M. the Attorney, that your suspicions are meaningless: the young man departed long before the murder was ever conducted," Virion Canarde smirked proudly.

"Mrs. Gaetz," Robin's face remained critical, "this is important: when did you go to bed and see your husband sleeping?"

"It was just about ten o'clock," she reiterated.

"And you said you dozed off just a little before then, is that right?" he insisted.

"Yes, I lost track of time while I was watching with Harken, and I suppose I just sort of slumped onto his shoulder. I wasn't really asleep, but I wasn't exactly conscious, either, you know the feeling," the woman described, hoping she was correct.

Robin LeBlanc nodded, "I think I do. And I think I've stumbled onto something that changes this whole case."

The judge banged his gavel, "Well, go on, Mr. LeBlanc, what are you getting at?"

"Think about it: this whole time, the prosecution and Detective Fletcher have been asserting that there was little to no blood at the scene due to the precision of the stab, but that doesn't make any sense," Robin shook his head, "If Mr. Gaetz's heart were pumping blood at the moment it was stabbed, then one would expect at least a few ounces to spill out, even if the the blade was plugging the wound, the force of the beating heart would cause at least some blood spatter, it's a certainty."

" _Que dites-tu_?" Virion scowled, "It does not matter what should have happened, M. LeBlanc, only what actually occurred, and the fact is that there wasn't much blood, end of story! Do you mean to dispute how much blood there was? What a trivial detail!"

"No, Mr. Canarde," Robin smiled, "what I mean is that Mr. Gaetz's heart was not beating at the time of the murder!"

A wave of shock ran through the courtroom, followed by the anguished growl of the prosecutor above sets of whispers, "W-What idiocy...! How could Mr. Gaetz's heart not be beating?! That would mean he was already dead!"

"Exactly," the attorney folded his arms.

"B-But he was murdered that evening by the dagger! _C'est ridicule_!" Virion shouted.

"I'm afraid I also don't follow, Mr. LeBlanc," conceded the judge, "How could Mr. Gaetz have been dead before he was murdered?"

Robin tapped his index finger on his forehead, enjoying the attention, "It's simple, if you force yourself to think about it in a different way: Mrs. Gaetz doses off watching sports with her husband just after dinner. When she awakens, she sees he's asleep too, and goes up to bed. But her husband never comes back up with her, and the next time she sees him, he has a dagger in his body. What happened?"

"He was stabbed overnight, obviously!" snorted Virion.

"No," Robin shook his head, "When Mrs. Gaetz thought she saw her husband sleeping... He was already dead! Poisoned, specifically. In fact, the real murder occurred hours before Mr. Gaetz was stabbed!"

"What?!" the prosecutor pounded his desk as more murmurs erupted through the court, "That's absurd! There was no mention of poison in the autopsy!"

"That's because the coroner didn't know he was looking for it," Robin countered, "Knowing this, I bet if he performed the examination again, he'd find it in a heartbeat."

"So then tell me this, M. the Attorney," Virion Canarde was grinding his teeth, "Why would anyone go to the trouble of stabbing a man who was already dead?"

"Why, to frame Tharja Anderra, of course," Robin smirked.

"Objection!" Virion cried, "Folly once more! You persist in saying that Mlle. Anderra was not the murderer? How could anyone else have killed M. Gaetz?"

"Weren't you listening, Mr. Canarde?" the attorney asked, "The Gaetz family had a guest that evening, one who was there for dinner, and thus had a reason to slip in and out of the home quickly."

"P-Proof!" Virion slammed his desk with his fist, "Prove your silly allegation! How can you be certain that M. Gaetz was poisoned at dinner?"

Robin recalled and nodded, "In the Gaetz home, on the tablecloth, I noticed a series of dark stains, down near the end, where the cloth tapers over the top-left corner of the table, almost as if they landed there while someone was trying to conceal something."

"Those spots could be from anything!" the prosecutor assaulted his desk again.

"True," Robin shrugged, "but I'm willing to bet that if we tested the tablecloth, we'd find the same substance that's inside Mr. Gaetz!"

The sounds of murmuring and whispering between members of the gallery and jury began to overtake the courtroom, leading the judge to bang his gavel loudly, "Order! Order! Very well, Mr. LeBlanc, you have made an interesting observation, and have supported it with evidence that leads to a valuable deduction. Since the prosecution has no apparent means of refuting your claims, I have no choice but to grant your request: a new autopsy will be performed, along with a chemical analysis on the dark spots on the Gaetz's tablecloth. As such, I will declare a one-hour recess." The judge banged his gavel and began to gather his affairs. Robin breathed for what felt like the first time in hours and supported himself on his desk as he nearly fell over. He had done it. The trial wasn't over yet, but he had fought hard enough to force a recess. In his rookie attorney's mind, this was already victory enough. Virion Canarde threw him a spiteful glare as he exited the courtroom.

[Blacklight Turnabout ~ Day 1 Trial Former-End]


	3. The Blacklight Turnabout: Trial Latter

[October 3rd, 11:56 am-District Court, Defendant Lobby No. 2]

Robin LeBlanc flipped the page over and examined it carefully, hoping to find some other resource he had overlooked in his previous searches, but it was no use, everything was beginning to run together, and there seemed to be precious little information that he had not yet dredged up. Hopefully, his bluff would be met with success, and the new examinations would vindicate his conclusions: if he was wrong, he had nothing left to go on and the case would be over. Whispers and murmurs could be heard behind the broad oaken doors leading to the courtroom, with the jurors all not-too-silently chattering about the developments in the case. In a way, it felt a lot like sitting in on Fado's trials, Robin thought, but his heart was in his throat at all times; it was much less of a spectacle when you were the one who had to do the talking. He sighed, massaged his forehead, and took a look at the next sheet.

A shadow appeared to distract him, however. The raven-haired girl, her police escort hanging in a nearby corner, stood before her attorney and offered a meek smile, "That was… impressive. Do you think they'll let me off now?"

The attorney decided to reply honestly, shaking his head vaguely, "There's no way to know for sure. A lot is riding on those new examinations, though. If my thoughts are correct, we'll definitely have shifted the balance, but if it turns out that I'm wrong… well, if I'm wrong, I'll just have to pick a new angle altogether."

Tharja nodded, mumbling in the affirmative, "You're really confident that I'm not guilty, aren't you?"

He smiled, "I have to be. I couldn't possibly believe you'd kill anyone, Tharja. Glare, hiss, and cast curses on them, yes, but murder? Give me a break."

The raven-haired girl blushed and hid her face, "I-I don't do the cursing thing anymore…"

"Oh?" her attorney smirked, "Probably for the best. Although, if you wanted to curse that Mr. Canarde, I wouldn't mind too much." Tharja Anderra giggled.

"They won't let me stay out here too long, since things are getting interesting, so I should probably get moving before the guard gets antsy," she shrugged sadly.

"Right, go ahead," Robin nodded, taking a renewed interest in his papers.

"And Robin?" she looked back, "Thank you."

"You're welcome,:" he bowed obediently, then his eyes widened and he called to her one last time, "You're sure that window was open?"

"Absolutely," she nodded. That was enough.

Before long, a call came along the attorney's cell phone. He held it to his ear, "Hello?"

"Not dead yet, huh?" a voice chuckled from the other end.

"I thought I held out pretty well," he supposed.

"That's what I heard," answered his secretary, "I mean, claiming that the victim was murdered before the murder? That's some old mystery novel-caliber stuff!"

"Not to be cliche, but sometimes truth is stranger than fiction," Robin noted.

"True," Anna agreed, "but still, that's pretty wacky. I mean, how did you even come up with that?"

The attorney really wasn't sure, "It just… had to be true. I don't believe Tharja did it, and there wasn't much blood at the scene, but everything pointed to her, so I assumed someone was trying to frame her. Given that, the only way someone could have killed Harken was by stabbing him overnight or something that no one would have seen, like poison. I moved away from the stabbing because of the blood and the spots on the tablecloth, and thus the conclusion. When you eliminate what can't be true, you end up with what is."

The line was silent for a second, then Anna muttered, "I feel like there's a simpler way to say that. At any rate, I'm proud of you, kiddo. You're not a total screw-up after all!"

"Gee, thanks," the attorney groaned.

"Aw, I'm just yanking your chain," she laughed, "Good luck in there. I'm rooting for you, and I'm sure your girlfriend is too."

Robin paused to think, then began, "Wait, what? Tharja's not-"

The line went dead.

"-my girlfriend. Dammit, Anna."

"Mr. LeBlanc?" Robin's attention was diverted to a guard pushing open the oaken doors, "The recess is ended. Please, rejoin the court." Robin LeBlanc wasted no time.

[...]

[October 3rd, 12:29 pm, District Court-Courtroom No. 2]

The judge pounded his gavel authoritatively, commanding the attention and silence of everyone present, "This court will now we went into recess, it was to allow the police department time to conduct a second autopsy, searching for poison, as well as to examine the tablecloth on the Gaetz family dining table for a similar substance, based on Mr. LeBlanc's uncontested assertion that someone else murdered Mr. Harken Gaetz before the presumed time of the murder. I have here the results from the coroner's office, which state that…" The judge paused, widening his eyes a trifle and adjusting his reading glasses, "there were indeed traces of a known toxin inside Mr. Gaetz's stomach, the consumption of which would have caused fatal cardiac arrest in approximately ninety minutes."

Robin nodded, "That seems to fit in logically, if Your Honor will allow me to interject." Virion Canarde had already been floored by the announcement, but he glared with a fierce ire when the young attorney made the remark. Still, he continued, "If, as Mrs. Gaetz testified, their guest left not long after eight o'clock, that would put the time of death for Mr. Gaetz somewhere in the vicinity of nine thirty, just about half an hour before his wife would deem him asleep and go to bed. Without being unnecessarily descriptive, Your Honor, it's very possible that the victim's body was still the same temperature as when he was alive at such a time, which would make Mrs. Gaetz's assumption all the more reasonable."

The judge nodded, apparently ignoring Virion, "That all stands to reason, yes. Now, as for the tablecloth, the forensics team were able to detect the spots you mentioned, Mr. LeBlanc, and they were able to determine that the traces present therein were indeed consistent with the toxin believed to have killed Harken Gaetz. Thankfully, the tablecloth had not been washed since the evening of the murder, else it would have been impossible to draw such a conclusion from such small trace evidence. My commendations to you, Mr. LeBlanc."

"Thank you, Your Honor," Robin took a bow without meaning to, "So… does this mean the trial is finished? There is no more evidence pointing to Tharja Anderra…"

"Objection!" Virion growled, "I refute such a suggestion! The defendant's fingerprints are still all over the weapon!"

"But was killed by poison, that was evidenced by the coroner's report just now," replied the judge.

"How do we know she was not the one who poisoned him?!" the prosecutor insisted.

Robin shook his head, "We have the testimony of both Ms. Anderra herself and Isadora Gaetz, both of whom say Tharja went to bed immediately around four in the afternoon. There was no opportunity for Ms. Anderra to perform such a poisoning, setting aside the question of where she would get the poison to begin with."

Virion tried to compose himself, straightening his cravat, "Grr… Very well then, M. the Attorney, then the burden stands with you: who do you accuse?"

"How's that?" Robin winced.

"You have shown evidence that strongly suggests Ms. Anderra is not guilty of the crime for which she is accused, but you know the law in Ylissean courts," the prosecutor assumed a smile, "In order to acquit an accused party of a capital offense, another suspect must be accused and given his or her own trial, wherein his or her guilt may be judged. The defendant cannot be proclaimed innocent until someone else is found guilty."

Robin swallowed, "O-Of course I know that… Ahem… I suppose, under the circumstances, there is only one possible solution to the puzzle the court has been given today. The only way the mysterious poisoning of Harken Gaetz makes sense is if it was perpetrated by the Gaetz's dinner guest on the evening of October 1, the man Isadora identified as Fomortiis Vigarde."

The judge banged his gavel, "Then we are fortunate. When the police heard identify her dinner guest, they put out a search for this young biographer, but found nothing until recently, when Mr. Vigarde apparently caught wind of their search and presented himself. Mr. Vigarde, are you present in the courtroom?"

A young, fair-faced and soft-featured man with thin, mauve hair, pale amethyst eyes, and a tiny porcelain smile rose from the gallery, his chair groaning as he pushed it back. "I am, Your Honor," he answered in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. Without another word, he made his way to the witness stand, sporting a shiny white suit and matching pants. As he assumed his position, he made a broad smile, first at the court, then at the attorney who accused him, "My name is Fomortiis Vigarde… and I would like to clear up these most unfortunate allegations." Tharja shifted uncomfortably in her chair as she saw his smile, and Isadora cocked an eyebrow, attending to the young man's dress. Robin took note.

"Your occupation, sir," Virion requested gently.

"I'm a biographer, as Mrs. Gaetz told you," he smiled, "I did admire her husband so. I was very eager to tell all Ylisse of his heroism… now, all I can think is what a tragic conclusion this tale will have. The poor man, cut down in his golden years by some Plegian hussy. Very sad."

"Ms. Anderra is most certainly not the murderer," Robin protested.

"So you say," the lad cocked an eyebrow at him, "and in that assertion you accuse me, so can you honestly expect me to concur with it? I most certainly did not kill Harken Gaetz, either."

"Would you care to tell us what did happen that evening, M. Vigarde?" Virion offered.

"I'd be glad to," he grinned, "I arrived at the Gaetz household around 7:30 in the evening, whereupon I was treated to a lovely meal. It was beginning to get a bit cold outside, so I was quite glad when Isadora brought out a lovely warm roast, for it made the house smell like heaven. I tried not to disturb the Gaetz family much during my stay, so I asked generally simple questions, although Mr. Gaetz was a most accommodating gentleman; he entreated me to ask whatever I needed. When I had finished collecting my information, I was in quite a pleasant mood of excitement, I must say, for I had a stomach full of delicious home cooking and a mind bursting with ideas and information. Thanking them for their wonderful hospitality, I left the Gaetz family not long after eight o'clock in the evening."

"Mr. LeBlanc, your cross-examination?" offered the judge.

Robin took a deep breath and placed his hands on his desk, staring back at the smiling youth, "That was a pretty short visit you had with Mr. Gaetz."

"Indeed," the youth confessed, "I had collected a good deal of information through books, military records, internet searches, these sorts of things. I only contacted Mr. Gaetz for access to his personal histories, for those anecdotes are what elevate a biography to something more tantamount to a novel, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Attorney?"

"That will be 'Mr. LeBlanc,' please," Robin responded, "And perhaps, but it seems to me that such a personal conversation might last a bit longer. You don't seem to have probed Mr. Gaetz for very long."

"Objection!" Virion Canarde shouted, "The defense is badgering the witness; who cares how long they spoke? Unless there is something contradictory about this information, it means nothing! _Rien du tout_!"

"Then let me ask this," Robin proceeded, "What sort of questions did you ask Mr. Gaetz, specifically?"

"I asked about his military history, some of the awards ceremonies he had been to, those sorts of flowery affairs, as well as how he met his lovely wife in the military. A touching story, that one," the mauve-haired man smiled pleasantly.

"Any other meaningless information you'd like to request, M. the Attorney?" the prosecutor taunted.

"Actually," Robin held his lip firm, "I think that last remark was rather interesting. Mr. Vigarde, you're aware of the awards Mr. Gaetz won during his service?"

"But of course," the young man shrugged, "He was a highly decorated veteran. Is this really relevant to the murder we're discussing, Mr. Attorney?"

"'Mr. LeBlanc,'" he corrected again, "And then maybe you can tell me… what was the most prestigious award Mr. Gaetz won?"

Fomortiis Vigarde swallowed and frowned. Virion, however, took over immediately, "For what reason, M. the Attorney? Good M. Vigarde need not be questioned on the detail of his reporting. The only matter up for concern is the murder, anything else is irrelevant."

The attorney glanced up at the judge, "Your Honor, I think this inquiry may be valuable. After all, it should be a relatively simple question to one writing a biography, should it not? It's been all over the news. I only want to know what the most prestigious award that Mr. Gaetz won is."

The judge mulled it over, then nodded and banged his gavel, "Answer the question please, Mr. Vigarde. What is the award?"

"Thank you, Your Honor," Robin half-whispered.

The young man wrinkled his nose at the judge, then smiled relaxedly at the court, "Well, that's quite simple, Mr. Gaetz was most proud of his 'Steadfast Paladin' medal, awarded to Ylissean officers who display exceptional valor in leading their troops."

The court fell silent. "W-What?" the mauve-haired man's eyes widened as he looked out at them, and his smile disappeared.

"Just as I thought," surmised the attorney, "The court finds your response as interesting as I do, Mr. Vigarde… because the medal you have named does not exist."

"W-What?" a grave frown appeared on the lad's face, "Th-That's not… of course it does! I described it to the letter!"

Robin shook his head, "The medal you have described is called the 'Soaring Pegasus' medal, and it was the merit most beloved by Harken Gaetz."

"S-So what?" Virion growled, "He got the name wrong! _N'importe_! Everything else was correct, so what's the matter?"

"The name of that medal has been broadcast on every news TV and radio station across the entire country since the morning when Mr. Gaetz was found dead," Robin placed his hands on his desk, "Anyone would know it by now, so to think that Mr. Gaetz's own biographer failed to identify it is ludicrous!"

"Q-Quiet you!" yipped the young man, "I made a simple mistake, that's all! I meant to say the Soaring Pegasus, I was only nervous to death by your accusative stare!" He assumed a hurt frown, "I was so dreadfully frightened, I slipped in naming the medal, that's all, but as Mr. Canarde told you, I got everything else right, so I wasn't just making things up."

"Do you have a body of work we can examine, Mr. Vigarde?" Robin requested, digressing.

"Er, no," he breathed, "this was to be my first work after graduating from university…"

"How lovely," the attorney seized with irony, "What university did you attend? And when did you graduate?"

"I, uh, graduated… from the… University of Ylisstol just last year," he choked out.

"My my," Robin taunted, "that's impressive, A UY graduate? How do you feel about the Pegasi this year?"

"H-Huh?" he cocked an eyebrow.

Robin slammed his desk, "Your Honor, I'd like to search the graduation records from Ylisstol University for last year for verification of Mr. Vigarde's qualifications… not that I'm in any doubt, because it's clear that this man doesn't know anything about the things he's claiming!"

"Agh!" the mauve-haired lad grasped a hand over his chest.

"Objection!" Virion Canarde shouted. "These accusations are… baseless!"

"Overruled, Mr. Canarde," the judge shook his head, "We will summon the records for Mr. LeBlanc."

"Ha," a voice suddenly sputtered, "Hahaha! Hahahahahaha! Ahahahahahahahahahahaha!" Eyes focused on the mauve-haired man in the center of the courtroom, whose thing locks were now becoming disheveled and bundling into thicker strands that covered his eyes, which were becoming slightly wild, "Is that what you think, Mr. Attorney? You think I'm a fraud, is that it?"

Robin nodded, "You don't know anything about Mr. Gaetz, and you're not a writer at all."

"Heheh! Haha!" the young man shouted, "That's pretty good. Did you figure it all out on your own? Haha! Tell me this, Mr. Attorney: who cares? I'm untouchable! You don't have any proof that I did the crime, do you? So you lose. Without any evidence to the contrary, the suspicion of guilt still falls to that little girl, and there's nothing you can do to change that. All your bluster's for nothing!"

"You're right," Robin confessed, "there's not much I can say."

"Ha!" shouted the young man, "So you admit it! Case closed, bang the gavel, judge! Guilty! Let's have her hanged!"

"But there is someone in the courtroom who can speak up," Robin smirked.

"Huh?" Fomortiis Vigarde's face sunk.

The judge banged his gavel a few times, "Don't keep us in suspense, Mr. LeBlanc, who is it that you mean?"

"There are two people involved in the story of the murder of Harken Gaetz who never met, two players who never interacted… inside the house anyway," Robin tapped a finger on his forehead, "I don't believe much in coincidence, something that noticeable must have happened on purpose. In keeping with my assumption that Mr. Vigarde was the man who poisoned Mr. Gaetz, there's one more step he would need to accomplish in order to divert suspicion, and that's to frame Tharja Anderra."

"Spit it out, already!" growled Virion Canarde, "What are you suggesting?"

Robin continued, unflinching, "If we accept that assumption, then it would be necessary for Mr. Vigarde to keep Tharja out of the way during the actual poisoning, or she would be suspicious immediately, as such, it was Mr. Vigarde who resigned Tharja to her bedroom that night… isn't that right, Tharja?"

Tharja buried her face behind her bangs, her hands shaking slightly. She gritted her teeth and grunted, but refused to offer an answer.

"I could tell by your reaction that you'd seen him before, Tharja," Robin held out his hand, "but you were surprised to see him here, meaning you didn't know he was with your foster family on the evening of the murder. I can also tell that it's difficult for you, Tharja, but you need to tell the court or you'll be even worse off: when have you seen this man before?"

"H-He was… I-I…" she hesitated, still shaking.

"Objection!" Virion shouted, "The witness's answer is taking too long! She is lying!"

"Objection!" Robin shouted back, slamming his hands on his desk, "Be quiet, Virion! She's having difficulty saying it because it's painful! Listen for once and you might just understand!" The prosecutor clutched his chest and grimaced, falling silent.

The raven-haired girl continued to shudder before speaking up again, "I… saw him with my friends. After school, I would go out with some of my Plegian friends, and one day… he was there. He claimed to know one of my friends, and he agreed, so he followed us around when we hung out…"

"How long ago was this, Tharja?" Robin interrupted softly.

"He showed up about a week ago," she answered.

"Interestingly," Robin leered at the youth on the witness stand, "That was around the same time Tharja's foster family received a letter from our 'biographer.' Please continue,"

"W-Well, that afternoon, I… The afternoon before the murder, that is… I did meet a few of my friends, and this man, the man up there… he offered to buy us all a round of drinks at a cafe. I was running a little late that day, so I ran to the bathroom after we ordered, and when I sat down… he was sitting right next to my seat, next to my cup. I guess… I guess I was stupid… I drank some of it, and then I started to feel sick to my stomach… the way he looked at me when I started to realize it… I didn't like the look in his eyes, so I made an excuse and ran home. I was so nauseous, so I barely said anything when I came in, threw open the window, and hit my bed like a sack of bricks. I don't want to think about what would have happened if I hadn't gotten a bad vibe, although things seem to have still turned out pretty terribly, considering," the raven-haired girl choked out. Eyes burned into the mauve-haired man on the stand.

"So, you felt ill and rushed home because Mr. Vigarde drugged you?" summarized the judge.

"How stupid!" grunted Fomortiis, "That's just a sob story she made up to cover her sorry Plegian tail. Why are you simpletons believing her?"

"Tharja, how many of your friends saw this man?" asked the attorney.

"At least five," she replied.

"Then we have at least five corroborative testimonies," Robin glared at the young man, "that's why."

"B-B-But…" Virion groaned, "There is no proof that M. Vigarde drugged her, or that this has any connection to the poisoning…"

"If a doctor tested her system, I'm sure we could find traces of the drug in Tharja's body," Robin responded, "As well as a few friends who might have witnessed something. Regardless, it has everything to do with the poisoning. Why else would Mr. Vigarde ingratiate himself with Ms. Anderra's friends a week before interviewing her foster father? There are too many connecting threads to dismiss it as chance."

"Have you anything to say for yourself, Mr. Vigarde?" demanded the judge.

The man's mauve bangs now covered his left eye, and both his eyes and lips had lost their soft pleasantness, replaced by a coarse frown and coal blackness. He grunted at the room, "Try though you may, Mr. Attorney, you don't have a smoking gun. Whether you think I poisoned Mr. Gaetz or not, my hands are clean, so you can't touch me. No matter what you do, you'll never be able to pin this on me. I'll walk free, and the girl will go to jail. Business as usual."

Robin shook his head, "Not quite. There has to have been a receptacle for the poison you used, and with it, a trace of the same poison that was on the tablecloth and in Mr. Gaetz's bloodstream. If we were to find such a receptacle connected to your person, that would be just as good as a smoking gun, wouldn't it?"

"It most certainly would," the judge concluded before anyone else in the room had a chance to answer, "That would tip the preponderance of the collected evidence most decidedly in favor of suspecting Mr. Vigarde. We will conduct a search of Mr. Vigarde's abode. Will you give us the address of your living space, Mr. Vigarde?"

"Go ahead," he shrugged, telling the bailiff, "You won't find anything, because I'm innocent."

Robin smiled, "Just a moment, Your Honor. Police should be dispatched to that address, but not just yet, because the witness is quite right. Well, half-right, at least."

The judge banged his gavel, "Explain, Mr. LeBlanc."

"The witness can afford to be so sure," Robin placed his hands on the desk, "because there is indeed no such receptacle in his receptacle exists, however. He's simply hiding it in a place he thinks no one will ever manage to discover."

"And what place is that?" requested the judge, "We'll dispatch investigators immediately."

"I told you," Robin smirked, "it's 'connected to his person!'"

The youth doubled back and folded his arms, "W-What?!"

The judge banged his gavel several times among the murmur in the court, "What is the meaning of this, Mr. LeBlanc? Where has the witness hidden the receptacle for his poison?"

The attorney tapped a finger on his forehead, "As I said, in order to be sure that it would never be discovered on an investigation of his belongings, the witness had to have stowed the receptacle somewhere away from his home, and somewhere he could constantly keep an eye on it."

"And where would the witness find such a place?" Virion sweat.

"Maybe Mrs. Isadora Gaetz can tell you," Robin smiled, pointing her out, "It was her reaction that helped me figure it out. That and the witness's willingness to have his home searched after handing himself over to the police, of course. Mrs. Gaetz, would you tell us, what strikes you about Mr. Vigarde's appearance today?"

"His suit…" she murmured, "It's the same one he wore the other night with Harken and I."

"My thoughts exactly," Robin touted himself, "Your Honor, the smoking gun, the receptacle for the poison used to murder Mr. Harken Gaetz is _in the witness's suit_!"

The mauve-haired youth snarled, grinding his teeth and collapsing a half-step, growling angrily at the attorney, "Th-That's not… You can't prove… How could you know… No… No! Nooooooooooooooooooo!" The young man pounded repeatedly on the stand, shouting the same word repeatedly, hair flying everywhere and eyes growing wider and wilder with each slam until he was forcibly apprehended by the bailiff and a guard.

"Get… Get your hands off of me…" he commanded in a low growl, "I confess. I've got nowhere to run now… I confess, so get your filthy paws away from me…" He pointed at the attorney with a lethal finger, "You… what's your game? What are you trying to prove?"

"My client's innocence, mostly," Robin answered, stone-faced.

"Tch," the young man scoffed, "How typical. And boring. Here I'd hoped I'd met an intellectual equal."

"Oh, we're not equals," Robin agreed, "I think I just won this little game."

"Ha!" the young man grumbled, "Arrogant. The confidence suits you, but it will be your undoing, Little Lawyer-boy."

"Before you go, Mr. Vigarde," Robin watched him carefully, "May I ask why you did it? Why murder Harken Gaetz? And moreover, why frame Tharja? Clearly, you planned it well in advance."

"I'll answer you in this way, Mr. Attorney," he responded, "You accused me of being a fraud, and you were dead on. Everything about me is fake. I say this only because it will inevitably be discovered now, so listen well: my name isn't Fomortiis Vigarde. That was made up, it was a pseudonym, for work, you understand?"

"For 'work?'" Robin cocked an eyebrow.

The youth smiled, "You uncovered quite a bit, Mr. Attorney, but not everything. Yes, work. Ladies and gentlemen of the court, my name is Lyon Mulroy, and I am a professional assassin."

"A-Assassin?!" Robin jumped. The prosecutor, judge, and remainder of the court did so with him, "You mean... you were paid to kill Harken Gaetz?"

"That's right," he nodded, "but don't bother asking who or why. Part of my contract is keeping silent on those questions; I'll die sooner than talk."

"So… you murdered Harken Gaetz via poison?" Virion muttered, "But then… why stab him with Mlle. Anderra's knife?"

"For reasons Mr. Lawyer already pointed out," he shrugged, "I needed to pin the murder on someone. Ms. Anderra was the perfect choice for my purposes, so I snuck back to the house late in the evening. Imagine my surprise when I saw that the girl had left the window wide open: an opportunity gift-wrapped for me. I climbed in, stole the knife, faked the murder, and skipped out the same way before anyone had a chance to realize what had happened."

"So then, the note was part of your plan, too, to fit with the sacrifice motif?" Robin supposed.

"No, the 'motif' was just a stroke of luck," Lyon Mulroy shook his head, "I had other ways to frame Ms. Anderra, but the opportunity that presented itself was just too perfect, so I took it."

"So why did you have the note prepared?" the attorney pressed.

"Part of my employer's request," the assassin surmised vaguely.

"I've heard all I need to hear," the judge shook his head, banging his gavel, "Mr. Lyon Mulroy, you are, without a doubt, a despicable man in a contemptuous profession, and judgment will not fall upon you lightly." The assassin scoffed. "However," the judge relaxed, "I am here to pronounce judgment on Tharja Anderra today, and after conferring with the jury who have graced us with their presence for this trial, in the murder of Harken Gaetz, the court finds Tharja Anderra unanimously 'Not Guilty.'" A few cheers went up in the courtroom, and reporters began to clamor and snap photographs of all the involved parties immediately, paying special attention to the defendant and the assassin. The judge banged his gavel for order, "This court is adjourned."

[...]

[October 3rd, 3:57 pm, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 2]

"Robin!" a voice yelled after the attorney as he carried his leather briefcase out. He was immediately enveloped in a suffocating embrace.

"Ack! C-Can't breathe!" he choked.

"Whoops," Tharja Anderra released him, "Sorry… I just… that was… Robin, that was amazing!"

"Was it?" he rubbed the back of his neck, blushing, "I don't know, I just tried to come up with stuff to say. I'm glad it worked out as well as it did in the end."

"Well, it was impressive to me," she grinned fondly at him.

"I'm just glad it's all over with," the attorney admitted, "so you can go back to school now, Tharja, and you can live free of suspicion."

"I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't called upon you…" the raven-haired girl looked at her feet, "You really saved me."

"It was nothing, honestly," he blushed, "just doing my best for a friend."

She chose to embrace him tightly once more, ensnaring him in her long Plegian ceremonial clothing, "And this friend is never going to forget it. Thank you so much, Robin…" She kissed his cheek softly, then the pair both blushed, staring at one another. "I-I… I should go," Tharja conceded, melting under the attorney's gaze, "but thank you. Thank you, a thousand times thank you."

"You're welcome," he smiled plainly as she took off. The smile disappeared as Isadora Gaetz traipsed over, "Mrs. Gaetz, I'm sorry… I know this doesn't help you with your loss…"

"Don't blame yourself, young man," she smiled faintly, "It was that little purple-haired monster who took my Harken from me. You helped me see that. It's a load off my conscience to know I wasn't harboring the woman who murdered my husband all this time, at least, so thank you for that."

"Of course," Robin bowed. Isadora took her leave.

"Hey, you!" another voice shouted. Robin turned his head to see a mop of cobalt hair in a trenchcoat with a cigarette poking out from underneath. Robin braced himself as Colm Fletcher drew near, "...Good work." The detective pat the attorney on the back, "I've got some o' my boys checking out that Mulroy creep's place out right now, and we'll see what we can get outta him personally." The detective grinned as he cracked his knuckles.

"Thanks, detective," Robin nodded, "I wouldn't have gotten anywhere without your help."

"Somethin' like that," Colm Fletcher supposed, "You did most o' the leg work, though, so good on ya. I won't hold you up, though, your lady friend is waiting for you."

"My 'lady friend?'" Robin LeBlanc repeated. He followed Detective Fletcher out the door to find Anna pressed up against the wall, waiting to surprise him.

"Hey! Congrats!" she shouted.

"Thanks," he bowed his head, "but all these congratulations are too much… I'm getting embarrassed…"

"Well, no worries," she grinned, "I won't congratulate you every time, because every time isn't your first case. But this one is, you know? So we should celebrate!"

"I guess I can't argue with that," the attorney shrugged.

"Good! Then we're going for dinner, and you can tell me all about it," she smiled broadly, "Your treat!"

"Sounds go-mine? You just got paid yesterday!" he shouted.

"Which reminds me," Anna thought, "How much were we getting paid for this case?"

"Um…" Robin rubbed the back of his neck.

[*]

 _And just like that, my first trial was over. It felt like I had a ton of iron taken off my chest when it was all finished, but I still had questions hanging around in my mind: who had hired Lyon Mulroy, and why did they demand the use of that strange note? And why did they target Harken to die? I would continue to ponder these questions as cases finally began to trickle in, but before long, I would come to regret ever having uncovered the truth that could only be revealed by shining that certain light of mine in the darkness._

[Blacklight Turnabout ~ End]


	4. The Turtledove Turnabout: Invest Day 1

[October 6th, 5:43 pm, LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices]

The indigo light of approaching dusk began to fill the corners of the room, shadows starkly marked in purple against the gold of the sunset above them. The room was deathly quiet, save the occasional rapid pecking noises of typing from Anna's desk as her face radiated blue from the laptop's monitor. Robin lay on the office's sofa, arms folded behind his head in a resplendent position of repose, a contented smile on his face. A set of papers, menacingly flashing their red ink at the attorney, remained in an unattended pile on the coffee table just beside him. He thought about getting up and switching on the radio that sat in the front corner of the office to listen to a talk show, if only for the background noise, but decided against it as Anna would often note that it distracted her. She'd be leaving before long, and he could turn it on then.

"You know," Robin was jolted out of his idle thoughts as Anna's fingers stopped, "as great as your first-ever victory was, it's going to take a hell of a lot more than one case to take care of these bills... especially considering that our first case turned out to be pro bono." Robin thought for a second, but before he could answer, his secretary added, "I really wish you'd have let me in on that decision, by the way." Her tone indicated this was a little more than a wish.

"It came as a little bit of a surprise to me, too," the attorney answered flatly, but then sighed with relief, "Don't worry about it: now that people have heard of me and know they aren't gambling on a total rookie, I'm guessing our odds will be way better. People will probably be knocking down that door." Robin pointed to the office door with a quick chuckle as he looked over the sofa to see Anna's reaction: she had not been amused.

As if on cue, several quick, hard knocks smacked against the door. Both of the firms' workers' eyebrows shot up, and Robin threw himself off the couch to answer the door.

On the other side was a young man, probably in his early twenties, with shortly-cut moss-green hair, a few jagged bangs of which dangled just above his eyes. His face was severe and he seemed to be professionally dressed, for some reason: he wore a long black jacket, but the tactician could see that he had on a blood-orange hoodie that covered a white athletic t-shirt. "Pardon me," he gestured with a polite tone, "is this the LeBlanc and Company Law Offices?"

Robin looked back at Anna and smirked, then nodded at the visitor, "That's right, I'm Mr. Robin LeBlanc. Can I help you?"

"I was hoping so," the young man said. He gestured to the couch, "May we sit down?"

"Of course," Robin nodded hastily, clearing off the coffee table and pulling over the chair for interviews, gesturing to it with his hands. He plopped himself back on the sofa as his guest seated himself and folded his arms.

"So, for starters, my name is Rath Tolstoy," the young man began, offering his hand.

Robin took it, but became aware that Anna had stopped typing. He glanced back over the sofa to see that Anna was now looking over in her peripheral vision, pretending to still focus on the laptop. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Tolstoy."

"Rath, please," he insisted, "Mr. Tolstoy is my father."

"What brings you to me, Rath?" the attorney proceeded.

"I heard about your defense of that Plegian girl in the newspapers," Rath said as if he were telling someone else, "I was wondering if I could secure your services myself."

"Of what are you accused?" Robin asked.

Rath laughed, "Allow me to rephrase that: I wanted to secure your assistance for a member of my family. My half-sister, to be specific."

"Ah, I see," the attorney allowed him to continue, "What's the trouble?"

"She was accused of murdering her co-worker," Rath shook his head derisively, "It's silly, of course. Laughable. She'd never do anything like that. The poor girl doesn't have the heart to hurt a damn thing."

"I'm sure," Robin agreed, "Have the police already begun investigating?"

"Yes," Rath answered, "The murder was discovered this morning, in her office. I have the address right here..."

Robin jotted it down on a small notepad. "And she's at the detention center now?" he continued.

Rath nodded, "So, what do you think? Will you take it?"

The attorney's eyes widened, "Sorry?"

"The case," Rath insisted, the politeness of his tone suddenly dropping, "will you defend my sister?"

"Well, I have to know details first," Robin shrugged, "I have to be sure I believe there's a hope of winning."

Rath frowned impatiently, "What's this about? There was no hope for that Plegian witch, but you got her off the hook."

"Of course there was hope," the attorney rebutted, "Tharja was innocent."

"And you're telling me you knew that from the start?" the young man grimaced.

Robin nodded, "I could tell. When she explained her case, I knew she was telling the truth."

"You don't think I am?" Rath balled his fists.

"That's not what I said," the attorney countered calmly but sternly, "I believe you believe she's innocent, but I have to talk to her myself."

"Well, then, c'mon," the young man stood, tugging on his jacket.

Robin looked up at the clock: it read 6:02. "Not right now," he shook his head, "the office is closing for the night, and I've got a little extra work to take care of. I set these hours for a reason: I don't have any extra time to work on cases this late in the day."

Rath gritted his teeth, "You're being a real nuisance right now, pal..."

"Then go somewhere else," Robin leered, "There are lots of other attorneys in this town, I'm sure you can find another."

The young man's cheeks pulled back taut from his tensing jaw before he grunted, "I'm visiting her at 9 am tomorrow. I'd better see you there or there's going to be trouble."

"Right," Robin stared at the visitor as he took one last glaring look at the attorney and his office before throwing open the door and heading out.

When he made a few footsteps down the hall and started to shuffle rapidly down the staircase, Anna piped up, "Are you crazy?"

"I didn't turn him down, I just got a weird vibe..." Robin began, "I mean, what was his problem, anyway?"

"You're kidding, right?" Anna rolled her eyes, "Didn't you hear his name?"

"Rath Tolstoy?" Robin recited with a quirk of his eyebrow.

The redhead sighed loudly, shaking her head, "You've never heard of the Tolstoys? Robin, they're a big organized crime family! The Tolstoys have been operating unchecked in Ylisstol for decades: racketeering, burglary, even assassination! They're bad news, and if this Rath guy wants you to defend one of them, you can bet it's not gonna be a pretty scene. I say you go there tomorrow and tell him straight away that you can't take the case."

"Well..." Robin absorbed the information, "but what if she really is innocent?"

"Robin..." Anna crossed her arms.

"Don't 'Robin...' me," the attorney grumbled, "I have to give the girl a fair shake. After all, you're the one who wanted me to be on the lookout for new cases. It's not going to hurt to give her a try, right?"

"Trust me," she insisted, "guys like him... it's better just to not get involved."

"I'll think on it," Robin concluded, sighing and shutting his eyes.

"Don't do anything stupid, Robin," Anna demanded, "I don't want anything to happen... Er, that is, I'm supposed to be your adviser, right? So take my advice on this one."

The attorney cracked a small smile, "Financial adviser. I take care of the clients."

"Just... be careful," she commanded, breathing hotly with frustration.

"I will, don't worry," he assured her, "Now, it's quitting time for you, isn't it?" Robin gestured to the clock: 6:11.

"Uh, yeah," the redhead concurred, pulling up her purse and the carrying bag for her laptop, "Nothing to worry about, though. It's just a question of how soon I'm gonna be eating noodles in my pajamas."

"Wouldn't want to keep you from that," Robin smiled warmly.

She packed her laptop away and draped the bag and her purse over her shoulder, "Then I'll take off. Thanks, boss man."

"Anna..." he protested.

"I know, I know," she shrugged him off, "just giving you a hard time." As she opened the door, the secretary lingered, "But I'm serious about the Tolstoys, Robin: watch out. You'd better know damn well what you're doing."

"I got it, mom," he smirked.

Anna offered him a particular gesture with one finger, "G'night."

"Night," he waved her off. He listened to her steps as she slowly walked a few paces down the hall, then quickened a bit as she descended the stairs. When he could no longer hear her, the attorney got up and pushed the button on the radio, which fizzled on immediately: a rather unpleasant-sounding pundit was railing about taxation policy. Robin walked into Fado's office and pulled a big volume with a faded blue cover off of the shelf. He flipped it open and was overcome with the musty smell of a well-used book. The attorney made a trip to the fridge to grab an iced tea and a package of sliced pepperoni. He sat back down and set to work on the tome.

[October 7th, 8:58 am, Detention Center]

The car's barely-functioning clock radio read 8:58 when Robin pulled into the parking lot of the detention center. He walked in and decided not to give the guards a thought this time, though he did notice that at least one of them was looking at him curiously. When he entered, Robin gave his information to the receptionist at the desk in the front room and, when she asked who he was visiting that day, he replied that he was waiting on someone before he went ahead.

Rath strode in, skipping the jacket and just wearing his loud orange hoodie today. He nodded slightly at the attorney just as the receptionist was explaining that prisoners could only have one visitor at a time. Robin took the news with a bit of surprise: he had sat beside Fado during all of his questioning sessions... maybe there was some kind of exception for junior partners? Dismissing that, Robin offered his hands to show Rath he could go first.

His face softened ever so slightly as he nodded again, looking at Robin in a "this-won't-take-long" fashion. As he walked over and sat down across from the cubicle, Robin couldn't see the girl herself, but he could make out some of their conversation:

"Rath..." the voice was excited but fell immediately into depression, as if she'd only suddenly remembered where she was.

"Lyn... quieter..." Rath wasn't as vocal, "...with me today."

"Who?"

"...ask you some questions... as you can, okay? Tell him everything about that night."

"Do you want me to... er, should I...?"

"No, 'less he asks..."

"Did... him?"

"...I did, but on his orders... kinda."

"Kinda?"

"...improvised."

"...scary in here."

"I know... get you out..."

"...so soon?"

"...talk later, for now, just answer him. Be on your best behavior."

"Okay... soon."

Rath returned to the small waiting area with a frown, glancing at Robin, who looked up from a newspaper as he heard the footsteps. "Go ahead," the mafioso gestured toward the room, pointing at one particular cubicle. Robin rose and thanked him, walking over and seating himself in a gray folding chair. He looked across from himself and saw the girl Rath had been talking to: she had emerald-colored hair that flowed longer than her shoulders despite the fact that it was in a neat, long, rounded ponytail. Her eyes matched the shade of her hair, and he face was soft and pale, although her jaw was a bit sharper than her cheeks might suggest. She didn't seem to be wearing any makeup at the moment, or, at least, not that Robin could perceive; her eyes looked tired and somewhat baggy. She definitely wasn't accustomed to sleeping in dark rooms close to the floor. She was dressed in a business-casual style: a long-sleeve sky-blue button-up shirt and a moderately long black skirt with some kind of red fringe design. It looked gaudy, but Robin was beginning to feel embarrassed for staring and looked back up at her and pressed the button for the microphone, "Hello. My name is Robin LeBlanc, attorney at law. I came here with Rath today."

She took a moment to absorb that, as he noticed her chest quickly swell and then drop again, "Hello, Mr. LeBlanc. My name is Lyndis Lorca, I'm Rath's sister."

"He said you were his half-sister," the attorney noted.

"Technically," she said, "but Rath and I are so close, and our parents have been together for years, we don't even consider the difference anymore." She was smiling at the mention of her brother.

"That's good," Robin said, unfolding his notebook, "It's good to have someone you can rely on like that." She nodded in affirmation. "Now, I hope you won't think I'm rushing, but can you give me some idea why you're in here today?"

Lyndis pouted at the thought, "I was... they, uh, accused me of..."

"It's okay, Lyndis," Robin assured her, "I'm here to help you, just tell me what you know."

"Lyn," she said, "Nobody calls me 'Lyndis.' Nobody that I like, anyway, so please, call me Lyn."

"Fine," Robin said, "Lyn, why are you here, please?"

"They said I murdered Nephenee..." she mewled.

"And who's Nephenee?"

"My co-worker. We have offices on the same floor at Heron Corp."

"Oh? What kind of work do you do?"

"I'm a sales representative. It's an insurance company."

Robin paused and cocked an eyebrow, "How old are you, Lyn?"

"Twenty-two," she said. Robin's eyes widened: she had legs up to here...

"And already working a job for a big corporation? That's pretty lucky," the attorney supposed.

She nodded, "My father happens to know some people who helped, but Heron Corp. actually hires a lot of recent college graduates, something about keeping on the cutting edge. My grades were good, so they were happy to have me even with just a bachelor's in business administration."

Robin kept the conversation going, "Did you like it there?"

"Oh, yeah, it was a nice place. Nice break room, good food nearby, and most everyone is pretty friendly, except the managers, but they on come around every once in a blue moon, so it's not too bad."

"Was Nephenee nice?"

"She was fine, I didn't have any problems with her, but... we got into a little spat."

"Can you explain this 'spat?'"

"She sent me an email a little over a week ago, saying I'd stolen a promotion from her. I'd only talked with her a little bit before then, but she sounded so angry, I typed up a response right away, but she never got back to me. Every time I saw her after that, she looked angrier and angrier, and she even talked to a few of my other co-workers, but I'm not sure exactly who or what about... rumors, you know. Yesterday, she approached me and said she wanted to meet with me face-to-face after hours: I thought that was fine, we could clear the air on this whole stupid affair, and so I agreed."

"So, what happened at the meeting?" Robin asked, seeing the natural stopping point.

Lyn shifted in her chair, "I... she... Erm... Ahem."

"I have to know in order to help you, Lyn," the attorney said.

"You won't believe me."

"I don't have a choice if you don't say anything."

"We met in her cubicle—"

"When was this?"

"Pretty late, after eight, I think."

"Go ahead."

"We met in her cubicle and... well, we talked for a few minutes, and then, out of nowhere, she lurched forward and pushed me!"

"So, what did you do?"

"I pushed back. Er, but not hard, or anything, just a little shove, like, 'Why did you do that?'"

"And then?"

"Then... then I felt something hit me on the back of the head."

That gave Robin pause, "The back of the head? Well, that doesn't make any sense, Nephenee—right?—she was in front of you."

"I know, I don't get it either," she sighed, "I told the police that, but they didn't believe me. When I woke up, I was in a chair and Nephenee was dead on the floor, bleeding out of her head..." The woman shriveled up as she said it.

"But you didn't hit her?" the attorney asked.

"No, I swear. But... there was this coffee mug next to her, all in shards, they said my fingerprints were on it and that Nephenee's blood was, too, plus there was a coffee stain on the wall, like I'd smacked her with it..." Lyn said meekly.

"I see..." Robin finished taking his notes, re-examining them as he lifted his pen, "Anything else you care to tell me?"

"Not that I can think of," she shrugged.

"All right," he stuffed his notes into his pocket, "Thanks for your help, Lyn, you've been very cooperative."

"You're going to help me, then?" she lifted her eyes to him as he stood.

"Yes, I am," he said, "If I could get you to sign this for me." He held out an affidavit and slipped it through the mail slot, "It just gives me permission to make inquiries on your behalf."

"Thank you," she signed it and closed her eyes like she was releasing a weight, "I'll be happy to answer any other questions you may have, Mr. LeBlanc." She pushed the document back through the slot.

"You can call me Robin, if you like," he offered, "and thanks, I'll pay you a visit if I need to talk to you before the trial." They waved their final goodbyes as Robin headed for the door. He was apprehended by the shoulder as soon as he attempted to exit the building and was directed into Rath.

"So, can I count on you?" the green-haired man commanded curtly.

Robin nodded, "The case seems worthwhile. I think I can help Lyn, but I'd like to make a request."

"Name it," said Rath.

The attorney's eyes flashed as they lowered carefully and threateningly at the mafioso, "I want you to stay out of it."

Rath bared his teeth, "What was that?! You think you can tell me what to do?"

"I'm telling you what will be best for Lyn," Robin said, "Staying away from her will get this investigation over with without any unnecessary questions, if you get my drift."

Rath stared at him severely for a moment, then relented, "I still want to see her... But... I suppose you have a point. Just... stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours, _capisce_?"

"Fine by me," Robin agreed. The pair shook hands and headed back to their cars. Robin lingered in the lot a little longer while he made a call, then set it to speaker as he started driving.

"LeBlanc and Co. Law Offices, how—"

"It's me, Anna, start looking at the caller ID."

"Why bother? You're the only one who's called this office in three months, other than debt collectors..."

"I'm taking the case."

"What?!"

"Lyndis Lorca's the name. She seems sincere, a real straight-laced girl, I think she's in the right, Anna."

"Be honest, was that it, or did you just like the way Don Tolstoy's daughter looked in a dress?"

"Anna! Wait... her father's the don?"

"Stepfather, but yeah, no doubt about it. I've been doing a little sleuthing since I came in this morning."

"You saw it on the morning news, didn't you?"

"Ding."

"Well, I'll call on you if I need anything else, Gumshoe Gal."

"For the record, I still think taking this girl's defense is a bad idea."

"Objection noted," he hung up. Robin read the address once more and made a quick left toward the commercial center of town.

[October 7th, 10:34 am, Heron Corporation]

Robin pulled into the lot surrounding a tall, cream-colored twelve story building, dodging a few squad cars and an area roped off with police tape. As he approached the scene, he heard a familiar voice, "Well search the back again, just to be sure. And you, go find us something to eat, for Naga's sake. It's gonna be a long day."

"Detective Fletcher," Robin called, drawing near. The detective had a cigarette in his mouth, as usual.

"Hey, if it isn't Mr. Rookie Lawyer," the detective responded, "Whatcha need?"

"I happen to be representing the defendant on this crime," the attorney said.

Colm frowned, "Now's not the time to be screwin' with me, kid, I got enough people breathing down my neck."

"I have the affidavit right here," Robin pulled it out and presented it to the detective.

He skimmed it, "You gotta be yankin' my chain... Well, hate to say it, kid, but you're up a creek with this one."

"How do you mean?" he wondered.

"Haven't you heard who's gonna prosecute this one? Lyndis, the girl you're defending, she's Don Tolstoy's stepdaughter, but then you probably knew that..."

"So?"

"So, the prosecutor's office isn't screwin' around this time: they've got Lloyd Reed on this case."

"Not ringing any bells."

"Naga, you live under a rock? Sumbitch musta won a hundred murder convictions last year alone, and not on open-and-shut cases, either. He's a monster to defense attorneys like you—picks 'em outta his teeth."

"Sounds interesting," Robin smiled, "can you let me onto the scene now?"

"Bein' nonchalant doesn't fool me for a second, kid," Detective Fletcher took a drag on his cigarette, "I been doin' this way too long."

Robin's smile stopped: he was right, that description had set the attorney a little on edge. To save face, he asked, "How long is that?"

"Four years," he detective said. Robin cocked an eyebrow, but Colm made no further remarks. The detective stuffed his hands in his pockets and waved for the attorney to follow, stepping inside and pressing an elevator call button not far from the door. He blew a puff of smoke as the pair waited. When the elevator finally descended, they hopped on and Colm pressed the button for the eleventh floor.

[October 7th, 10:38 am, Heron Corp. Sales Office]

"This is the spot," Detective Fletcher announced as the elevator chimed to let them know they had reached their destination. They entered the office, Colm waiting in the door frame, and Robin immediately began to recall the details of Lyn's story, associating them with what he saw: the first thing that caught his attention was the body on its side on the floor, arms squared up to its head as if the poor girl had just been taking a nap. Cyan hair, a neat navy shirt, and some very light blue jeans, the girl was the picture of cubicle professionalism, but she also looked quite young, similar to Lyn, the more Robin thought of it.

Sensing his gaze, Colm piped up, "Nephenee Monell, age twenty-four, apparent CoD: cerebral hemorrhage by being struck with a blunt instrument."

"I imagine that has something to do with this," Robin said, eyes trailing to a smattering of dirt-colored droplets on the walls, which were the color and apparent texture of spongecake.

The detective nodded, "The current theory is that Ms. Lorca smashed her coworker upside the head with a coffee mug nearby, causing that splatter. You'll know why if you look down."

Robin did so, seeing at his feet the remains of a seafoam-colored mug, shredded into fragments, laying about the floor. He picked one up and spotted scarlet color mixing with the paint on the outside layer and reddening the chipped white of the inner material "A bloodstain?" the attorney said aloud.

"The victim's, most likely," Detective Fletcher concurred, "It'll be double-checked by the boys in the lab, but I wouldn't count on any miracles. Besides, we already know those two were the only ones in the room at the estimated time o' death, so it's pretty much a foregone conclusion."

"What about Lyn?" Robin asked. Colm responded with a glance of ignorance. "Lyn said she was hit on the head and blacked out," he recalled.

Colm nodded, "That's what she claimed when we found her. Thought she was just delirious, or something, but there was a slight bruise on the back of her head. Probably just came from a scuffle with the victim that she's trying to use as an excuse."

"You think so?" Robin debated, not really knowing why.

Detective Fletcher scoffed, "Tch. Yeah, I do. I know you prob'ly don't wanna hear it, but it's my best guess as a result of all my experience in the field."

 _All four years of it_ , Robin noted ironically to himself.

"D'ya mind?" a voice grunted from behind them both. Robin turned his head to find a blonde woman wearing a navy suit jacket with a purple blouse underneath and black pants pushing the detective out of the way.

"It's still an active crime scene, ma'am," Colm tried to stop her.

"It's also my office, where all my friggin' work is, pig," she ignored him, storming to the back corner of the room where one office was partitioned from the other cubicles with an enclosed wall and a few tall windows. The woman glared unpleasantly at Robin, "Here to cut her up?"

"Huh?" Robin looked around, "No... uh, I'm a defense attorney..."

"Oh," her brow creased like she was tasting something sour, "even worse. I guess that means you're representing... her."

"I think so?" Robin's voice wavered, "I'm representing Lyndis Lorca's defense."

"Yeah, well," the boisterous blonde said, "don't bother, the girl's guilty as sin, and she deserves whatever's coming to her. I had bad vibes about that chick all along, and now I have confirmation... all too late."

"I take it you knew the victim and the defendant?" Robin supposed.

She dipped her head, "Yeah, I was their direct superior, which means it's my fault I didn't stop this before it happened."

"I hardly think so," said Robin, "even if the crime is as the police are reporting it now, it was probably a simple crime of passion. I doubt you had anything to do with it."

"Did I ask what you thought?" she growled.

"Sorry," he relented, offering a hand, "I'm just trying to learn the facts, here. Robin LeBlanc, attorney at law, and you are?"

"Luxberg," she spat, "Heather Luxberg."

"Do you mind if I ask you a little bit about Misses Lorca's and Monell's jobs here, Ms. Luxberg?" Robin asked.

"As a matter of fact, I do," she turned away marching into her office and slamming it shut. Robin noticed through the window that she sat down, placing her arms on the desk, and lay her head between them. "A real charmer, that one," Robin said.

"No kidding," Colm agreed, "I've been dealing with her since yesterday. You shoulda seen her then, she was frickin' hysterical."

"Have you questioned any of the other employees on this floor?" the attorney continued.

"Yep," Detective Fletcher took a drag on his cigarette, "There were only two others in this office space. One of 'em was the one who called the police last night, actually. They'll be in the lobby downstairs, if you wanna meet 'em."

"Please," Robin said, following him back to the elevator.

[October 7th, 11:03 am, Heron Corp. Lobby]

The lobby was gaudily decorated, such that Robin was glad he hadn't seen it on his first venture inside: garish gold trim was slapped onto every wall and fixture, and cheesy marble columns surrounded a rather impressively hideous fountain in the center. The fountain was surrounded with crystalline bath tile and featured a gold statue of a soft-faced young man with wings sprouting from his back gently stroking the neck of a proud-looking heron facing the same direction. The rest of the floor was coated in some shoddy-looking amethyst carpeting that was fading and wanted for some cleaning. Seated upon a maroon leather sofa, Robin saw two young men waiting. One was smaller in frame than the other, but still quite athletic-looking: he had bright red hair, soft blue eyes, and was waiting with his arms neatly folded in his lap, wearing a dark blue button-up shirt with a pale blue undershirt tucked neatly beneath and a gold tie, along with a pair of khakis and brown leather shoes. His companion was much more muscular, with big, broad shoulders and a sleek, slick blue crew cut and narrower eyes which were also blue. He wore a black jacket with a red t-shirt stuffed underneath and darker brown khakis, capped off by black tennis shoes.

"Hello, gentlemen, how do you do?" Robin saluted, waving a hand.

"Finally," grunted the blue-haired one, "We've been waiting forever. Can we get this done so I can go home?"

"Hector, don't be rude," his companion chided him, "We're ready to deliver our statements, officer."

"Officer?" Robin blinked, "No, I'm an attorney, representing Ms. Lyndis Lorca."

"Oh, gods," Hector rolled his eyes.

The redhead scowled at him, then smiled at the attorney, "Sorry about him, we've just been waiting a while without much sleep. Any advocate of Lyn's is a friend of mine, though." The young man offered his hand, "Eliwood Fremont. How can I be of service?"

"Robin LeBlanc," he shook the hand, "I understand that you worked in the same office as Misses Lorca and Monell?"

"That's right," Eliwood nodded, "Lyn and I worked side by side. She was a very nice girl, I don't know how this could possibly have happened." His face fell a little, "I didn't know Ms. Monell, but she was pleasant enough in the break room when I saw her. I simply can't believe Lyn would do something so... that she would... It's..."

"Eliwood's pretty shellshocked about the whole thing, as you can see," Hector said, "Though I can't blame him. Sweet, innocent Lyn just wasn't the type for murder. At least, we thought so."

"And your full name, sir?" added Robin.

"Hector Sturakst," he said, "so, what else did you want to know, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"I heard one of you called the police?" the attorney said.

"That was me," Eliwood raised his hand, "As far as I know, I was the first to see the bodies."

Robin whipped out his notepad, "Interesting. Can you tell me what you saw, and why you were there in the first place? I mean, it was after hours, right?"

"Yes, that's the thing," the redhead gave a long sigh, "About a week before... this, I started noticing Lyn and Nephenee were avoiding each other, and they wouldn't talk, however many times they passed each other. About three days ago, Nephenee talked to me and asked if I knew what was up with Lyn: I told her the same thing I just told you, that all I knew was that they had been avoiding each other recently. She told me she was under threat of losing her job because of some HR complaint."

"She said the same thing to me," Hector interjected, "Asked me the same question, too and, of course, got the same answer."

"So," Eliwood continued, "I heard through the grapevine that they were going to meet last night to hash things out. I don't usually get involved in these sorts of things—it's not my business, you know?—so I sort of forgot about it until that evening. When I thought about it again, I got a weird feeling. I won't say I'm psychic, or anything silly like that, but I just got a bad sense, and so I decided to give Lyn a call on her cell phone: no answer. I tried Nephenee after that, same deal. I was worried at that point, so I just hopped in my car and hightailed it out here. When I got up to the office..." At this point, the young man paused and swallowed.

"Go on," Robin coaxed, "tell me everything, it's important."

"I saw the scene much like it is now, I imagine: stains on the wall, Nephenee collapsed and bleeding out of her head, the broken coffee mug, and Lyn seemingly fainted just across from Nephenee."

"It looked like Lyn had 'fainted?'" Robin probed.

"Or just passed out," Eliwood strained, "I mean, I'm not sure, she just—"

"All right," the attorney understood, "just keep going. What else do you remember?"

"Uh, the window was open," Eliwood added, "I know there was a breeze, that's unusual... And... I don't know, I don't recall a whole lot, otherwise. Once I saw all that, I called the police immediately and described the scene. I waited in the lobby for them to arrive, and I've been down here ever since, essentially."

"Do you remember anything different, Mr. Sturakst?" Robin turned his head.

"Nah," he said, "I only got here a little after midnight, well after the police showed up and questioned Eliwood. I haven't even seen the body, I've just been... er, well..." Hector coughed.

Eliwood smiled at him, "Hector's been helping me out. I needed it: I thought I was going to pass out around 1 am, but Hector brought me some coffee and pulled me out of my funk."

Hector blushed and rubbed his neck, "It wasn't like I was babysitting ya, you just looked tired as hell, is all."

Eliwood laughed, "Yes, sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything, Hector's got an image to uphold with the ladies. But he's a good friend, and it would have been a rough evening without him."

"I see," Robin flipped to a new page of notes, "One last question for you fellows, if you will?"

"By all means," said the redhead.

"What is it that you and Ms. Lorca do at your jobs?"

"Oh, of course! We're sales representatives. We distribute and maintain insurance policies."

"Heron Corp. is an insurance company?"

"Yes sir, and one of the most sought-after. People pay high premiums to sign on with us."

"How old are you, Mr. Fremont?"

"Twenty-four."

"Quite young for such a position. You must have just finished college not long ago."

"Quite right. Hector and I were roommates, actually, at Ylisstol University. I went for my bachelor's in business administration, and Hector had no idea because he was there on a soccer scholarship..."

"Coulda gone pro if I hadn't rolled my damn ankle... Those Valmese are some dirty motherf—"

"—so he decided to just follow me. He asked for my help, and I was happy to oblige, as we'd become good friends by then."

"I kept the jocks from stealing his milk money."

"Very funny. Anyway, we managed to graduate just a year apart—"

"—that written exam was a buncha bull. We're supposed to be numbers guys, aren't we?"

"—but I couldn't find a stable source of employment, so I stayed in town. I moved from one small accounting job to another and helped Hector in the hopes that the two of us could make more progress together. It was three months after Hector graduated that I was approached by a nice representative from Heron Corp."

"Do you remember that representative's name?" Robin interjected.

Eliwood's eyes darted toward the ceiling, then back down, "I'm afraid it escapes me, at present. Fine gentleman, though, per my recollection. At any rate, he offered me a salary I would be insane to turn down, but I asked if I could also recommend my friend. The representative said he'd think about it, and so I held off. Apparently, after examining Hector's qualifications, they decided to accept us both. I've been working here happily for a little over a year now."

"Interesting," Robin concluded, putting his notes away, "Well, I think I've got all I need from you two, unless there's anything else you care to tell me."

"I can't think of anything," Eliwood shrugged.

"Kid's brain is fried," Hector thumbed at his coworker.

Robin smiled and nodded, "No trouble. Thanks for everything, you two, you've really helped me a lot."

"Happy to be of assistance," the redhead reciprocated.

"All right, get some rest, then," the attorney parted with a wave. He met up with Detective Fletcher, who had his back turned as he was conversing with a thin but tall young man in a police uniform. "Detective?" Robin called, "I'm going to be taking my leave."

Colm spun around and nodded, "Awright. Thanks for the heads-up. Don't let the door hit you on the way out, kid." He thanked the detective and took a few steps out before he heard the doors pushing open behind him, "Oh, one other thing!" Robin turned back. "I'm gonna have the coroner send you a copy of the autopsy report, alright?"

"Thanks," Robin said, "I appreciate that."

"No prob," the detective took another drag on his cigarette as he looked to he floor, "You're gonna need all the help you can get."

[October 8th, 12:14 pm, LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices]

The attorney burst in rather noisily, shoving the door open and sending his jacket and various legal papers fluttering loudly in the pocket of disturbed air. It was enough to make Anna spring a few inches out of her seat before she settled down and saw who it was. "How's tricks?" the attorney saluted as he put a satchel full of papers down next to the coffee table.

"Electric company called," she said without missing a beat, "You're gonna need to pay up soon."

"Did you tell them—"

"The usual," she cut him off.

"Thanks," he raked a few fingers through his hair to straighten it out, seeing his reflection in the window before him. When he was done, he went on, drifting a little closer to her desk, "Hungry?"

"I was just about to have lunch," she nodded.

"Why don't you come with me?" he offered, "Spare yourself the expense and keep me from being alone."

"You're not going to 'forget' your wallet again, are you?" she snickered.

He frowned, "That happened one time six months ago. And I don't know why you say it like that, I really did just forget it..."

"Whatever you say," she shrugged, standing up and pulling on her scarlet jacket and throwing a yellow scarf around her neck, "but I'm leaving my wallet here, so if you 'forget,' you'll have to skip out or wash dishes."

He patted his rear pocket, smiling, "Got it right here. C'mon, got a favorite place?"

[October 8th, 12:39 pm, Middle of the Road Diner]

Robin put the menu down to find his secretary sipping from a big glass of water. She regarded him silently while she drank, then opened her mouth, "Something on your mind?"

"I've been here before," the attorney recalled a few late lunches taken in solitude in the back corner of the old restaurant, "but that waitress... I've never seen her be so friendly. Do you two know each other?"

"By extension, kinda," she replied.

Robin rolled his eyes, "Well, thanks, that explains everything."

In a moment, the pair heard a few footsteps down the aisle. Robin turned around to find a man with olive hair and wearing a chef's apron wave to the redhead, "Anna! How are you?"

"Oh, I'm doin' okay. How about you?" she cooed, "You're looking fit as a fiddle."

He laughed, "Well, you know, Sully keeps me in shape."

"Come here, big fella," she stood and wrapped him in a hug as he came close. They grinned at each other and Anna sat back down, gesturing up, "Robin, this is Stahl Mollen. He owns the place. Stahl, this is Robin LeBlanc, my new boss."

"Sure," Stahl sized him up as they shook hands, "I've seen him before. You were under Fado's wing for a while, weren't you?"

"That's right."

"Well, and now you've got the run of the office? That's great. Well, hey, any friend of Anna's is a friend of mine. What can I make for you guys today?" The pair placed their orders and Stahl assured them the food would be out before long.

The two exchanged glances for a minute before Anna cocked an eyebrow, "What?"

"Nothing," Robin shrugged, "You've got a lot of friends around here, huh?"

"I guess so," she took another long sip from her water.

The attorney gave up and looked back down at his notes, spilling out of a navy blue folder that was eating up half of his end of the table. He reexamined the scrawling diligently while Anna watched in silence. He had gained a lot of information in a short period, and for that he was grateful, but it also meant he didn't have a lot of time to wrap his head around the significance of the evidence: there were a lot of threads hanging loose that could shed some light if they were pulled taut, but there wasn't any more time to do so in today's investigation. He would have to prepare for the trial, and drag out the remaining gaps in the story there. That reminded Robin, he wanted to mention something to Anna: "Oh, they told me Lloyd Reed was going to be he prosecutor on this trial."

Anna stopped and gravely swallowed her water, then sighed in an effort to recover her composure, "Makes sense. This is Don Tolstoy's little girl we're talking about. If the prosecutor's office can put her away, they'll have the don by the balls."

"Sounds like something out of an old black-and-white movie, doesn't it?" Robin shrugged.

"Don't screw around with Llyod Reed on the opposite side of the courtroom," Anna said, "That's what I've heard, anyway."

"Not really an answer, but thanks anyway," the attorney sighed. With the sound of a few footsteps, the food arrived: a large bowl of salad topped with cranberries, a few croutons, and a raspberry vinaigrette landed in front of Anna, and a hearty-looking turkey sandwich drenched in steaming brown gravy slid out before Robin.

[The Turtle Dove Turnabout ~ Day 1 Investigation-End]


	5. The Turtledove Turnabout: Trial Day 1

[October 8th, 9:06 am, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 4]

The air conditioning was still running in the lobby despite it being only sixty degrees outside, which made the shiny linoleum of the floors reflecting the buzzing fluorescent lights seem even colder than usual. The room was overtaken with this sense, as even the bailiff, arms folded in front of the door to the courtroom, shivered every now and again when he assumed no one was looking. Otherwise, the room was quite silent. Dull murmurs of other trials could be heard in the hall like plays acted by ghosts on an unseen stage, but none of that could distract the young attorney who busied himself by laboriously reexamining every note he had taken on the case. Of course, reviewing the facts was mostly meaningless at this point: he had every detail essentially burned into his mind, but he was feeling anxious, and flipping the pages and staring at his messy, rapid handwriting offered the impression that he was doing something.

It was a little less than ten more minutes of this torturous waiting before something finally changed. Robin saw the glow of red and blue lights shimmer against the pastel walls for a moment and assumed he knew their meaning. The sound of a pair of doors slamming shut prompted him to close his notebook and look up. A stout police officer was pushing a handcuffed Lyndis Lorca through the heavy glass doors. Robin rose to meet them. "Good morning, Lyn," he offered clinically.

"Good morning, Mr. LeBlanc," she said. Dark shades underscored her half-closed eyes.

"How are you feeling?" the attorney continued, unsure of what this question would accomplish.

"I'm all right," she said simply, blinking a few times, "How are _you_ feeling? About the case, I mean."

"I'm feeling strongly about it," he said, clenching his fists to assure her he was serious and putting on a smile.

"That's good," she seemed to yawn, "Um... the officer here told me I might have to get up and testify... Is that true?"

The attorney nodded, "Most likely. The prosecutor will want you to explain your actions, but it will mostly be to try to show that what you're claiming is impossible. They just want to paint you in a bad light, but I'll be there to stop them."

"That's a relief," she smiled, "What should I say if they call me up?"

"Just be honest. Tell them everything exactly as it happened; the worst thing you can do to yourself is try to stretch the truth," Robin answered.

"I see," she thought about that for a moment, glancing back at the doors, "and you'll be in there to help, right?" She finished this question with a bright, almost playful smile.

"Of course," the attorney was unsure of what to make of the gesture.

"Okay," her head bent as she sighed, "It's just... I'm a little... uh, Rath told me that I shouldn't answer questions, especially without an attorney present. I don't know why, exactly, but he was very insistent upon it. 'And not a word about your life at home,' he told me."

"Uh, yeah," Robin swallowed, "don't worry. I'll monitor the types of questions you're asked. Just tell the truth, like I said, and we'll come out okay."

"Okay," she hummed, "I guess I have to get going now, huh?" She took a wary glance at the officer who still had a hand pressed to her back, "I'll see you in a minute, Mr. LeBlanc."

"Right," her attorney nodded, "just stay calm, Lyn."

The officer continued to lead the girl into the courtroom and Robin rubbed his head fitfully for another few minutes of note-skimming until the bailiff in front of the door cleared his throat, "Mr. LeBlanc, court is just about to convene, if you would be so kind."

Robin stood, packing his files away, and walked through the doors.

[October 8th, 9:32 am, District Court-Courtroom No. 4]

A gavel pounded against wood to silence a few murmurs. Robin noticed that the press were back in full force for today's trial, too: he hadn't heard much about the upcoming headlines, but Lyn's relation to the Tolstoys was guaranteed to draw in some attention. A few off-duty cops, sporting their badges and stern looks, occupied seats in the gallery. Maybe a few of their friends had been iced by the Tolstoys. Robin swallowed hard: he didn't want to think about what they were wishing upon him and Lyn at this moment.

Something else attracted Robin's attention, however: his opposing counsel. For as much of a buffoon as Virion Canarde had proved himself to be, at least he looked the part of a prosecutor; the man across from Robin's desk did not come across as one who routinely spent long hours in offices examining police dossiers in order to step into a dingy public court for several hours and attempt to condemn small, local criminals. Maybe that was because he wasn't: Colm had said they were saving him, after all, for important trials, but the man still looked nothing like Robin had been expecting of such a weapon. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with neatly cropped but youthfully stylish wheat-blond hair and stubble to match darkening his v-shaped chin. His eyes were cat-like and, appropriately, a vaguely gold color. He wore not a suit, but a long navy coat that covered a black blazer and barely visible white undershirt further diminished by a wide red power tie. He blinked only a few times while Robin investigated his appearance, suggesting he was conducting a similar assessment.

"Ahem," the judge cleared his throat, "If you would all please be silent. Good morning, court is now in session for the trial of Ms. Lyndis Lorca. Are the defense and prosecution adequately prepared?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Robin nodded, stealing a breath.

"Indeed, Your Honor," answered the man on the other end of the room.

"It's been quite a while since I last saw you in my courtroom, Mr. Reed," added the judge.

"Quite," the prosecutor concurred, smiling gently, "Your Honor will forgive me for my absence. My promotion means I don't always have the time to spend in lower courts such as these, but I'm of the opinion that justice is just as important at every level of the system, which is why I still drop by local courts whenever I'm able."

 _Sure,_ Robin thought, that's _why you're here_.

"And an admirable position that is," said the judge, mirroring the smile, "would you care to introduce yourself to those less familiar with you by providing your opening statement, Mr. Reed?"

"But of course, Your Honor," the man closed his eyes and let his chest rise and fall, "Ladies and gentlemen of the court, as well as the jury, thank you so much for gracing our humble hall of justice with your very valuable time this morn. My name is Lloyd Reed. Ordinarily, I do my prosecuting at the territorial level, which is why you may be more or less familiar with me. As I told His Honor, however, my intention is to exact justice wherever I go, and so that is why I am here today." He adjusted his tie, "Ladies and gentlemen, today we are presented with a very clear, and very tragic case: the case of Ms. Nephenee Monell, who was most callously taken from her friends and family by the hands of her very own coworker, Ms. Lyndis Lorca." A few murmurs spread out through the crowd and some gazes landed on Lyn, who was couched in the gallery at the extreme end toward Robin. "Now," Lloyd continued, "some of you may have heard of my opposing counsel today, too, in regards to an impressive defense he put on just a few days ago, isn't that right, Mr. Robin LeBlanc?"

Robin's eyes widened when he heard his name. Like a deer in headlights, he stood and murmured, "Uh, yes, that was me."

"Thank you," Lloyd dismissed. Robin sat down. "Mr. LeBlanc has already proved himself a competent attorney, which is good: we prosecutors can't go about losing our edge. We two sides of the law must be constantly in conflict in order to hone the sword of justice, so I will appreciate the provision of Mr. LeBlanc's staunch defense. He will try to convince you, ladies and gentlemen, that Ms. Lorca was somehow incapable of the dreadful murder, or that another might have been responsible, but when you hear from the defendant herself, as well as the testimony of a few of her coworkers, you will know why that conclusion is flawed. You will hear that Ms. Lorca, following a feud with Ms. Monell, arranged to meet in their office after hours. You will see evidence of the coffee mug she used to do young Ms. Monell in when a scuffle erupted, and then..." Lloyd Reed stroked his hair out of his face, "Then, you will declare Ms. Lorca guilty, and see that she is properly punished for her actions."

Surprised looks spread around the courtroom as Robin felt heat crawling up his collar. They couldn't actually be believing this charlatan's shtick, could they?

"Very well put, Mr. Reed," said the judge.

Of course they were.

"Would you care to call your first witness?"

"Yes," Lloyd smiled, "let's not dally. Let's give it to the court straight from the horse's mouth: the prosecution calls Ms. Lyndis Lorca, please." As a few whispers were let out, Lyn stood and trudged her way to the defendant stand, looking at Robin as she made her way up. "Good day, Ms. Lorca."

"G-Good day," she responded politely.

"Could you repeat your name and state your occupation for the record?"

"My name is Lyndis Lorca, and I'm a sales representative at Heron Corporation."

"Very good," Llyod dipped his head before glancing at the gallery and then the jury, "Now, Ms. Lorca, would you be so kind as to describe to the court your version of events?"

She paused, rubbing her thumb over her palm, "Uh, my 'version of events,' sir?"

Lloyd's nostrils flared as he let out a quick exhale, "Just tell the court what happened on the night of the crime from your perspective, Ms. Lorca."

"Oh," she blinked, "Well, that's simple enough, I guess. It all started a little over a week ago. I was just carrying on about my work like any other day, but I got this weird email from Nephenee. It said I had robbed her of a promotion—I had been assigned a new, higher-grade pool of clientele recently, as well as a pay increase—but, anyway, she seemed really upset, like I had deliberately thwarted her when we really didn't even know each other very well. She avoided me for the next few days after that, and I started to get worried. I sent her a reply email on the same day, but she never responded, so I just didn't understand. Then, two days ago, I guess that was the 6th, she stopped me moving between offices and asked if we could talk later that evening. I agreed, because I wanted to put whatever this weird squabble was behind us, and so we arranged to meet at eight o'clock that evening."

"And did you both show up to the meeting?"

"We did. Nephenee... um... sorry, my memory of this is a little hazy..."

Robin felt his cheeks flush as a few previously inattentive eyes locked in on Lyn.

"It was a terribly rainy night. We met up in front of the office, and I walked in right behind Nephenee. When we got into the office, she told me about hearing that I filed an HR complaint, which wasn't true. I told her as much, but she wouldn't believe it. She started complaining about management, and I think she was starting to get angry... Eventually, she lunged forward at me and shoved me back into the cubicle, which gave me a bump on my head. I can't pretend I wasn't kind of annoyed, so I shoved her back, but I guess that little bump did more damage than I thought, because after that I felt everything go black and I passed out. The next thing I remember is being carried out of the building by a pair of policemen."

"And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen," Lloyd offered his hands, "Ms. Lorca claims she fell unconscious after shoving her coworker, who ended up dead that evening." Some in the court laughed audibly, prompting a grimace from Robin. "The prosecution has reason to doubt Ms. Lorca's claims, however, and we will bring forth further testimony in order to elucidate our reasoning."

"Mr. LeBlanc, any objections to this testimony?" inquired the judge.

"Um," Robin hesitated, "Lyn, are you sure about that last part? You definitely saw Nephenee shove you, and you blacked out when you shoved her back?"

"Saw it? I felt it," she said, a little insulted, "Yes, Nephenee pushed me and I hit my head. Well, I guess that's when I hit my head. I don't remember feeling that bump until after I woke up, so I figured that had to be it."

"I see," Robin sighed, "thank you. No further questions." This was going to be a long trial.

"Splendid," declared Lloyd Reed, "Now, in order to acquaint us most accurately with the case, the prosecution would like to call the chief investigator on this incident, Detective Colm Fletcher."

Without another word, Colm Fletcher sauntered up to the stand, taking Lyn's place with an unlit cigarette resting sumptuously between his lips. As the sound of "name and occupation" began to leave Lloyd's mouth, the detective sneered at the gallery and stated, "My name is Colm Fletcher. I'm a homicide detective, and the chief investigator on the crime at issue in today's trial."

 _At least I can count on you_ , thought Robin.

"Straight to the point," the prosecutor grinned, "I like that. Well, then, good detective, don't keep us in suspense: please, tell the court your findings."

Colm cleared his throat, "The story shakes down like this: my people arrived on the scene at 8:42 pm, responding to a call from within the building. We found the defendant lying unconscious right by the victim. Both women had bruises on the backs of their heads, which was confirmed by a paramedic who came on the scene about ten minutes after the officers responded to the call. Ms. Monell was also reported to have numerous bruises along her back according to the autopsy, probably sustained in a shoving match with the defendant. The killing blow, as determined by the autopsy, was a severe contusion on the back of the head, delivered likely as a result of blunt force trauma. That explanation is consistent with some other evidence we found: a ceramic coffee cup, shattered to bits around the two women and dripping with the victim's blood, and a stain from a spray of brown liquid that we can reasonably conclude is coffee. From all that, the conclusion seems pretty obvious: the defendant was fighting with the victim and smashed her head in with that coffee mug, killing her instantly, and then passed out, either due to shock or injuries sustained during the fight."

"Mr. LeBlanc," offered the judge, "your cross-examination."

"Yes, Your Honor," Robin sighed, happy to he able to speak at last, "Detective Fletcher, let's talk about Ms. Monell's injuries."

"All right."

"You mentioned that she had wounds along her back? Could you elaborate?"

"Not 'wounds,' per se. Bruises. The coroner said she had bruises in spots on her back that were indicative of additional blunt force trauma."

"Could you tell the court which spots, specifically?"

"Well... skipping the medical mumbo-jumbo, they'd be most severe on the shoulders, some light ones along her spine, and a few worse ones around her tailbone, a little ways above her hips."

"Objection!" Robin cried, "Detective Fletcher, surely you can see why that makes no sense."

"W-Well..."

Lloyd Reed slammed a fist on his desk to announce himself, "Since you brought it up, maybe you'd care to tell the court, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"If I must," Robin nodded, "Those bruises are totally inconsistent with the detective's explanation: if Lyn and Nephenee were fighting, how would Nephenee's back get bruised, but not her chest, arms, or anywhere more available?"

"Objection!" answered the prosecution, "Weren't you listening, Mr. LeBlanc? The pair were in a 'shoving match:' they didn't physically assault one another, except to push each other into the walls of the cubicle, until Ms. Lorca took the coffee mug to Ms. Monell's head."

"But then why did Lyn only have a bruise on the back of her head?"

"Maybe she took fewer hits. Maybe she ended the fight before the victim had much of a chance to fight back."

"But how about the head injury: why would it be on the back of the victim's head if she were face-to-face with the defendant?"

"One can't possibly account for the angle that might present itself in mid-brawl, Mr. LeBlanc. Where the blow was struck signifies nothing."

"I'm afraid I must concur with Mr. Reed in this case," the judge noted aloud, "Objection overruled, Mr. LeBlanc."

 _Dammit_ , Robin cursed, _he's got a lot less give than Virion_.

"Any further questions, Mr. LeBlanc?" inquired the judge.

"Er, yes, actually," Robin gathered himself, "Detective Fletcher, you mentioned that the call for the police came from within the building, is that right?"

"Yeah."

"And do you know who made that call?"

"The official report says it came from the CEO's office."

Robin paused, cocking an eyebrow. Colm's facial response told the attorney he shared his confusion.

"Ah, but that was an error made by the investigative team," the prosecutor wagged his finger, "I have an updated report with me that clarifies the error: the call was made by a cell phone whose GPS positioning showed the caller near the CEO's office, thus the mix-up."

"Objection, Your Honor!" Robin complained, "The defense and prosecution are supposed to have access to the same body of police investigation material, why did I never see this updated report?"

Lloyd Reed shook his head, "The update only came in this morning, a few minutes after the trial began, else I would have gladly shared it with you, Mr. LeBlanc. You may have my copy to examine, if you so desire."

"I do," Robin assumed a confrontational tone, receiving the document bitterly. _I can't believe the judge is just letting him get away with that excuse... How does he have everyone here so spellbound? Well, it's not working on me. I'm onto you, Lloyd Reed_.

"Well," the blond prosecutor began anew, "With that matter settled, I think the next logical step would be to question the caller himself, don't you? You may step down, Detective Fletcher; the prosecution calls Eliwood Fremont."

As instructed, the young redheaded man stood from a corner of the gallery and proceeded to the witness stand, replacing a frowning Detective Fletcher. He assumed his position with a polite smile, beaming his blue eyes out to the courtroom.

"Good day, lad," Lloyd began, "Could you tell the court your name and occupation?"

"Eliwood Fremont, sir," he obeyed, "I'm a sales representative at Heron Corporation, just like Lyn and Nephenee."

"Indeed," Lloyd bowed his head, "Did you work at all with Misses Lorca or Monell?"

"I did," he nodded, "Lyn worked right beside me in the office, and Nephenee was never really far away, although she was usually running around."

"Very good. Now, Mr. Fremont, is the court correct in assuming it was you who contacted the authorities that evening?" the prosecutor continued.

"Yes," Eliwood answered, "I arrived on the scene after the... uh, incident that resulted in Ms. Monell's death, and saw what had occurred, so I called the police on my cell phone straight away."

"Could you tell us, in your own words, what you witnessed, Mr. Fremont?" Lloyd's fingers cupped his chin.

"Um... certainly," the young man nodded, "When I went into the office, it was much as Mr. Fletcher described it: there was a spray of coffee dripping down the walls, and on the floor was... was... Um, Ms. Monell lay dead, there was blood pooling around her head, and Lyn... Lyn was nearby, unconscious, as it appeared. I tried to rouse her, but she didn't budge. The air in the room was cold, too: the window had been left open. The whole thing... I mean, the sight of those two... I, uh... I felt very uncomfortable, and so I stepped out of the room, a little ways down the hall, before I made the call."

"Explaining your question, Mr. LeBlanc," noted the prosecutor, "Mr. Fremont 'stepped out' to a room directly beneath the CEO's office, and so the police report merely misidentified the location. What's most important here, however, is that we have a witness who can place everything at the scene exactly as it was when the detective arrived not long after, meaning there's no room to doubt the facts of this case."

 _He says that, but I'm not so sure_ , thought Robin, _Something about the way Eliwood's looking makes me suspicious. I wonder..._

The judge shrugged his shoulders in Robin's direction, "Cross-examination, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Mr. Fremont," he said aloud, "I wanted to ask you momentarily about that window."

"Yes?" the young man's eyes brightened.

"First, is it typical to leave windows open after closing, Mr. Fremont?" Robin put on his most professional air.

He shook his head, "Just the opposite: company policy is to close and lock all windows before leaving for the day. It's even more bizarre because it was pouring that night. Ordinarily, that'd be a supervisor's job, since they're the ones who leave last."

"And do you recall opening, or do you recall anyone else in the office opening that particular window at any point on October 6th?" he pressed.

"No, sir," Eliwood said curtly.

"Objection!" Heads turned to face Lloyd, who waggled his finger, "This court won't be so easily led away from the truth by the same tricks, Mr. LeBlanc."

 _Tricks?!_ Robin fumed internally, _You're the one pulling new evidence out of thin air!_

"Let me guess," the prosecutor smirked, "you were planning to suggest that a third party slipped in through the window?"

"Er, well—"

"Impossible," Lloyd snapped his fingers so that the sound reverberated throughout the courtroom, "In case you've forgotten, Mr. LeBlanc, Misses Lorca and Monell's office was on the eleventh floor. It was more than 120 feet off the ground, meaning unless you happened to have a rope or an aircraft, there would be no reaching such a window."

"But—"

"And before you say anything stupid, there were a number of other buildings nearby from which anyone could have easily spotted a person scaling Heron Corp's office, and there was no rope found on the premises at any time during the investigation."

 _Shoot_ , Robin's face fell, _he read me pretty well. I guess it was pretty obvious what I was going for, especially given how much an open window saved me last trial... Still, I have to believe there's something Eliwood isn't telling me. I wonder if I could press him on something else..._

"Your Honor," Llyod inhaled, "having evidently silenced the defense, I would like to suggest that we move on from this questioning."

"Hold it!" Robin commanded, "Mr. Fremont, I have something else important to ask you!"

"What is it?" he blinked.

"I was wondering, what led you to go to the office in the first place?"

"Eh? Oh... I wish I knew, truly. I knew Lyn and Nephenee were fighting, and I knew they were meeting that evening, so I was a little worried... I was feeling nervous about their safety that evening, so I called Lyn's phone, but she didn't answer. I tried Nephenee after that, but I got the same result, and that's when I really started getting anxious. When I heard that slam outside the building, I ran to the elevator—"

The attorney's face stretched as his eyebrows jumped up. The prosecutor had a similar reaction, as he clenched his fist while staring in the witness's direction. "Could you repeat that, Mr. Fremont?" Robin pounced, "What did you hear?"

The redhead's eyes shifted to each side of the room, "Uh, I heard a sort of thud outside the building, in the direction of our office."

"Clearly, it was the sound of Ms. Lorca hitting her victim, or perhaps Ms. Monell's body falling over after the attack," Lloyd tacked on.

"I'm not so convinced," replied Robin, "Mr. Fremont, did you encounter anything else that seemed strange on your way in?"

"Um, I'm not sure," he rubbed his neck, "The elevator was kind of slow, I suppose. I... I can't say."

"Do your inquiries have a purpose, Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge demanded, "Is there some greater significance to Mr. Fremont's observations?"

"Of course there isn't," Lloyd Reed shook his head, "Mr. LeBlanc is simply grasping at straws in an effort to distract the court from the truth, as is apparently his habit. So what if Mr. Fremont heard a noise? It can be explained. There's no point to any of this."

 _I have a theory_ , Robin thought, _but there's no proving it right now. I can't fight without the proper tools. Better to just sit back and see how this one plays out. Maybe I can just redirect the conversation and get a little more information._

"Well," Robin's voice cracked, feeling heat upon his neck, "between the open window, the clandestine meeting, the slow elevator, and the mysterious sound, I'd like to hear from the supervisor Mr. Fremont mentioned, I think."

"Oh-ho," the prosecutor chuckled, "I'm glad we're in agreement. In order to provide the last and most decisive proof of my allegations, the prosecution would like to call the victim and defendant's superior, Ms. Heather Luxberg."

The blonde was wearing a mauve suit that didn't fit her shoulders properly as she marched up to the witness stand and replaced Eliwood. In contrast to that lone display of formality, she wore jeans and flat white shoes, although her eyes managed to captivate many looks from around the room. She placed her hand on her hip when she faced the two attorneys.

"Name and occupation?" Lloyd demanded.

"You just heard it," she rolled her eyes.

"For the record," he insisted.

"Heather Luxberg," she droned, "I'm a sales division manager at Heron Corp, meaning I'm the immediate superior of both he defendant and Ms. Monell—er, the victim." When she finished, realization flashed in her eyes and she glowered at Robin, who lamented his luck and shrunk slightly.

"Ms. Luxberg," Lloyd began, "given your position, would you mind telling the court if you knew of any conflict occurring between Misses Lorca and Monell?"

"Yeah, I knew," she frowned, "I had heard from Nephenee that Lyn had been avoiding her a bit at work. She talked to me about it, but I told her it was more of an HR kinda problem. Maybe a day later, I got a notification from HR that she'd been harassing Lyn. Now, that struck me as weird, because Nephenee had never harassed another person in her goddamn life, if I had to bet, and she certainly had never shown signs of confrontational behavior in the two years, so I had my doubts, but I passed the message on anyway, but then they both just stopped getting near each other. Now I feel pretty confident that complaint was a set-up: Lyn was trying to get Nephenee angry, and then get her fired, but when that didn't work, she agreed to that meeting and sprung a more violent kind of trap."

"And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen," bowed Lloyd, "Even before the crime took place, the defendant and victim were at odds, and the defendant even tried to get the victim fired. When she failed, the defendant arranged a meeting with her victim and killed her. The circumstances of that murder are supported by evidence found at the scene by detectives, and the findings of those detectives are in turn supported by the testimony of the individual who contacted the police. There is no doubt about the truth of this case."

"I must say, I'm inclined to agree," nodded the judge, "The facts do seem exceptionally clear and well extracted. Still, in the interest of fairness, I turn it over to your cross-examination, Mr. LeBlanc."

"Thank you, Your Honor," he sighed, "Ms. Luxberg, can you account for the open window that Mr. Fremont observed?"

"Objection!" shouted the prosecutor, "Enough, Mr. Leblanc: that window is immaterial to the case, it is impossible for anyone to have entered through it."

"But—"

The judge pounded his gavel, "I concur with Mr. Reed: it seems highly doubtful that anyone might have made use of the window. I grant that its being open is an oddity, but without evidence from you, Mr. LeBlanc, I'm afraid I can't see any reason to consider it anything more than that."

"W-Well, how about this?" Robin tried to recover, "Ms. Luxberg, you seem very sure that Ms. Lorca's complaint was false. Why is that?"

"Because, Nephenee never harassed anyone in that damn office!" she snarled.

"How do you know that?" he continued.

"Because I saw her all the time! I watched her when she interacted with that girl, and she never had a bad word about her! It was nonsense!" Heather continued to growl.

"Objection!" Lloyd spat, "Quit badgering the witness."

"Is there a point to this, Mr. LeBlanc?" asked the judge, reaching for his gavel.

"My ultimate question to you, then, Ms. Luxberg, is this: if all that is true, why would Lyn file the complaint in the first place?"

"W-What..?"

"You heard me. Why would Lyn file a complaint with your HR department if she never had problems with Nephenee?"

"Because she wanted Nephenee fired!"

"But why?"

"Now, listen here—"

"It doesn't make any sense," Robin shook his head, "The prosecution, at the conclusion of this testimony, has claimed at least two things: Lyn and Nephenee started fighting over an email sent to Lyn that said Lyn had stolen a promotion from Lyn, and Lyn made a harassment complaint. But it was also claimed that the two were avoiding each other, so how could that happen?"

"Just what are you saying?" Lloyd folded his arms.

"Lyn and Nephenee both said they were avoiding each other, and that fact was confirmed by multiple witnesses, so answer me this: how could Lyn allege harassment if everyone near them knew they were deliberately avoiding one another? If Nephenee never got involved, as you say, the allegation should have disappeared, but according to you, she was disciplined to some degree. How could that be?" Robin folded his arms.

"Your Honor," scoffed Lloyd, "this is completely irrelevant. I don't know why the defense is so eager to plague us with logistical questions that have no bearing on the case—"

"Hey, lawyer," Heather interjected, "Defense guy. What did you say about an email?"

"Didn't you hear?" Robin cocked an eyebrow, "Lyn mentioned in her testimony that the reason she started avoiding Nephenee was because she got an email from Nephenee accusing her of stealing a promotion."

"What?" her face screwed up, "But she never sent any such email."

"Ms. Luxberg—"

"And how do you know that?" Robin noticed.

Heather was dumbstruck for a moment, "Uh... uh... I was... as a manager, I'm an administrator on all of my employees' work email accounts... I can see anything they send or receive."

Robin turned to the gallery, "Lyn, Eliwood, is that true?"

"...No," they said in unison. Murmurs picked up through the crowd.

Robin turned back to Heather and pressed his advantage, "Now, why are you lying to us, Ms. Luxberg? I'm just asking for the truth."

"You lousy, rotten... I oughta shove my foot straight up your—"

"Ms. Luxberg!" the attorney slapped his desk with both hands, "Tell the court the truth! Why are you lying about your interaction with Nephenee?"

"Sh-Shut up!" she growled, "You bastard! I hate you! I'm not saying a word!"

"Seems we're at an impasse, Mr. LeBlanc," remarked the judge, "Is there any way we can continue? Do you have something to tell us?"

"That's right!" shouted Lloyd, "If you're so sure Ms. Luxberg is lying, why don't you tell us the truth, then: what is Ms. Luxberg lying about with regards to Nephenee?"

Robin shrugged. _I sure as hell hope I'm right about this_. "Ms. Luxberg, I believe the pieces have fallen into place. There's only one reason why you so staunchly defend Nephenee and know every detail of her struggle, why you were so broken up when you arrived the morning after the crime, why you acted so contemptuously to Lyn and her attorney, why you've lied to insulate yourself from questions about her... Heather Luxberg, you were in a romantic relationship with Nephenee Monell!"

Heather stepped back, then hung her head, letting her long, flowing, golden hair droop over her face. After a moment of silence, she sighed and lifted her head back up, "You're right, of course."

"Huh?!" Lloyd's hand tensed as it grasped the end of his desk.

Heather's eyes appeared glassy as her mouth spread into a smile, "I mean, could I make it any more obvious? I tried to hide, to pretend when I was at work, but, really, I don't think anyone would be surprised. It's not right for me to get close to one of my subordinates—breach of contract and all that—but Nephenee..." The blonde let out a long sigh, "If you'd only known her, you'd have given up anything to be with her, too. She was the greatest: passionate, smart, humble, a good listener... So... there was no way I was gonna sit back and let her good name be ruined by that... _hussy_." Heather indicated Lyn with her finger, hissing as she pronounced the word.

"And because of that," Robin tread carefully, "you've been holding back something else, haven't you? Something that affects how you're seeing this whole picture."

Heather only sniffled. "And just what is it you claim the witness is holding back?" Lloyd beat his desk with his fist.

"The ID registration records, right, Heather?" Robin pleaded, "There's something bad on them, isn't there?"

"ID registration?" repeated the judge, cocking an eyebrow.

Robin elaborated, "When an employee enters certain rooms, like the office the defendant and victim worked in, they have to use an employee ID that stamps the time of their entry or exit."

"Ah," nodded the judge, "but why would Ms. Luxberg conceal something like that? It seems like important evidence for the police investigation."

She swiped a lock of hair out of her face and pulled a crumpled, haphazardly folded scrap of paper out of her pocket and lobbed it at Robin, "Oh, shut up and just take the stupid thing."

Robin read it, smoothing out the riveted edges, and felt his pupils narrow, "Look here... 'Nephenee Monell: 7:57 pm, Lyndis Lorca: 8:04 pm... Nephenee Monell: 8:22 pm.' That's the last log for the day."

"I'm confused," the judge admitted, "what, exactly, is so significant about those times?"

"They're around when the meeting was supposed to take place..." Lloyd swallowed as realization hit him.

"But more importantly, it shows that Nephenee approached the door shortly before Eliwood came onto the scene and phoned the police. If this record is to be believed... Nephenee was up and moving, she left the room, several minutes before Eliwood found her dead, but Lyn never left," The attorney concluded.

The judge's eyes widened now, too, "What?! Why, but this changes everything we assumed about this case... if Ms. Lorca was unconscious, but Ms. Monell was still alive... The facts of this case are completely altered."

"You know..." Lloyd had shut his eyes and was clenching his fists, "It's a serious offense to withhold information from the police."

"As if I care," Heather rolled her eyes, though the tears in them remained, "Everything that matters to me is gone now. You think I'm scared of jail time? Idiot."

The judge banged his gavel a few times, "Well... this is certainly an interesting development. And, for the time being, it appears both defense and prosecution lack sufficient evidence to prove their cases. As a result, I will hereby postpone this trial until tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, I will expect both counsels to conduct thorough reexaminations of the evidence and to find all the information necessary to settle this case, am I understood?"

"Yes, Your Honor," both lawyers concurred.

"Very well then, this court is adjourned."

[October 8th, 2:08 pm, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 4]

Robin nodded solemnly to Lyn as the guards led her away. One more night in a holding cell was better than a decade in a federal prison, he had assured her, as well as himself, because those shimmering emerald eyes were hard to turn away. Before they left, Lyn glanced at one of the guards and wriggled her hand a bit in the cuffs that pinned them to her back. She entreated the guard with those same eyes, then made her request, facing the attorney: she wanted him to take her hand, if only for a moment. Robin blushed a little, but it was an easy request to obey, so he walked behind her and put his hand on top of hers. His palm dwarfed hers, the delicate porcelain hand beneath his was only about half the size, if that, and so when she felt the pressure from his touch, she folded it into his whole hand, interlacing their fingers first, and then shrinking it into a ball, expecting him to do the same. He complied. Her hands felt cold.

When that episode was concluded, he returned to her face, which was now bearing a ghost of contentment. She thanked him and let herself be led away.

Rath wasn't as pleased. He made that much known when he seized the attorney by the shoulder from behind, "What the hell was that?"

He whipped around, feeling his heart skip, "What?!"

"Why were you getting friendly with her just now?" the young man demanded, eyes narrowing.

"She asked me to take her hand," he reported, "nothing more. She's feeling afraid and alone, and it was the least I could do to ease her suffering."

"The least you could do is jack," Robin had the sense that Rath was holding his tongue, his cheeks twisting as his jaw tried to find the words, "She's my sister. I don't need anyone getting in her business, least of all her creepy, slimeball lawyer.

Robin's fists clenched, "I only did it because she asked. All I did was take the poor girl's hand. I worked with Fado Verlaine for years, I know how this works, and I know how to keep it from escalating."

"'Know how this works?'" the mafioso repeated, anger stinging his voice, "How _what_ works, you asshole?"

"What just happened there," the attorney tried to soften his voice, "She doesn't actually want anything to do with me, she's just in a dark place. She sees someone helping her, someone talking to her when no one else will believe, and someone who's trying to help her make sense of it all, and so she tries, with or without knowing it, to pay the feeling back by acting romantic."

Rath bared his teeth and seized the attorney by his lapels, "You sayin' she's loose, you scumbag? You callin' my sister a floozy? 'Cause I'll break your scrawny neck right here, in full view of everyone, you piece o' garbage!"

"Listen!" Robin commanded, only half-succeeding at remaining calm, "I'm not saying that at all! I'm saying she's confused, and she wants to thank me, but doesn't know exactly how. A week after the trial, it'll have all sublimed and she won't give me a second thought, but right now she's just trying to manage her feelings. I'm saying this because I've seen it before, I've been taught about it, and I've been shown how other attorneys destroyed their careers because of it. Romancing a client is completely unethical, and I'd probably be disbarred for it. It's not happening."

Rath set him down, jabbing a finger into his chest, "Well, you just listen here, awright? It better not be happening, 'cause if it is, you don't need to worry about the trial, I'll kill you before it's over. Just keep your filthy mitts off my sister, you got that?"

"Sure," Robin breathed, hoping to end the conflict.

"Good," the mafioso spat, whipping around and stuffing his hands in his pockets. Robin sighed as he watched a few of the guards in the lobby raise their eyebrows. He was glad none of the jurors had seen that, else Lyn would be in serious trouble. But for today, they were safe. That meant more work tomorrow, but at least Robin could breathe easy for an instant. With that said, he remembered, and picked up his phone, putting in the number.

The call was answered after just two rings, "Hey, Robin."

"So, you finally listened to me," he grinned.

"I was just finishing up lunch," she muttered, "What do you want?"

"Uh, I just finished the trial," he said, checking his memory to ensure that was the case.

"Oh!" he heard the sound of a plate moving and her stuffing down the rest of her food. He could hear her half-full cheek as she spoke, "What happened? Did you get the little mafia princess off?"

"Well, they suspended the trial until—"

"I mean, I know you got her off, the way her voice sounded when she phoned the office yesterday..."

"Anna, c'mon!" he huffed.

"Hey," she chuckled, "I'm not judgin'. She's a pretty girl, and she'll keep you well connected for life, Mr. Mob Lawyer."

"Anna," he fumed, "you told me to call you after the end of the trial, and I quote, 'To make sure I'm still alive, 'cause gods only know what could happen to me on this silly case.' I'm trying to comply to your request. If you're just gonna screw with me, I'm hanging up."

"All right, all right, settle down," she sighed, "Well, go on, what's the story?"

"The trial's suspended. I have to investigate again tomorrow and be prepared for a second day of testimony."

"So, baby steps, at least, huh?"

"I guess. I'm glad I got this far, anyway."

"How was Mr. Lloyd 'Eats-Defense-Attorneys-for-Breakfast' Reed?"

"Good. I mean, bad. I mean... he was better than most prosecutors I've seen, even with Fado—"

"You've only seen two not with Fado, so..."

"Not the point. He's no pushover, that's for sure. He controls the court really well, and he's smart enough to match me blow for blow, to anticipate things. But, then again, he's not completely immune to being thrown for a loop. Just gotta keep on my toes."

"Sounds like you've got it all figured out."

"I wish. I'm taking it one moment at a time."

"Will you be coming back to the office before closing?"

"Yeah, I've got some reading to do. Plus, I'm starving. I'll be leaving in a sec, I should be there in about half an hour, depending on traffic."

"Okay. See you then," the phone clicked silent.

Robin sighed, reading wasn't the half of all the things he had to do. And he was more than starving by now.

[Turtle Dove Turnabout ~ Trial Day 1-End]


	6. The Turtledove Turnabout: Invest Day 2

[October 9th, 9:23 am, Detention Center]

Robin took a deep breath as he walked past by the guards. The air held a small chill and the clouds above him were steel gray and indigo: not a great sign. He continued in and checked with the receptionist, then walked over to the booth and grabbed a stool and pushed the button for the intercom, staring through the plexiglass. Heather Luxberg's icy blue eyes were searing a hole into him as they stared back. "Heather," he began.

"Here to gloat?" she scoffed, "Ya got me. I'm going to be fired for inappropriate workplace conduct, if not for the felony charge, and you dragged me outta the closet. Hope you're real friggin' pleased with yourself."

The attorney sighed, "I know it's not what you want to hear, but none of that was my goal, really, Heather."

"Stick to Ms. Luxberg," she bit, "only friends call me Heather."

"Ms. Luxberg," he relented, "I just want to find out exactly what was going on in that office. You have to admit those records prove something odd is going on, right? Otherwise, you wouldn't have concealed them."

"No," she scowled, "Lyn killed Nephenee, Lyn deserves to rot in prison, end of story."

"Don't be like that," he begged, "I want to figure out what's going on here. Wouldn't it kill you to find out someone else had been behind Nephenee's death all along and you'd ruined an innocent girl's life?"

"It would," she folded her arms, "which is why I'm glad I know it's not the case."

"What about the bruises on Nephenee's back, Ms. Luxberg?" Robin tried a new tactic, "How do you account for those?"

The blonde glared, "The bitch that killed her did it. What kind of stupid question is that?"

"Even on her tailbone?" the attorney fought.

"You're wasting your time," Heather shook her head, "No matter what you tell me, you're not going to get me to change my mind or speak up about anything. I don't give a rat's ass about your case."

"That's regrettable," Robin jumped as he suddenly heard a voice from behind him. Eliwood was looking over the attorney's shoulder at his supervisor, "I know you're upset with Mr. LeBlanc, but he really is just trying to get to the bottom of this."

"How would you know, Fremont?" she jeered.

"I have a strong inclination," said the redhead, "My intuition about people is never wrong. That's why I knew I could trust you as my boss, even with those strange NDAs."

"Hey!" she shouted, "Keep your mouth shut, there's a clause for mentioning that stuff, too!"

"What?" Robin piped up, "NDAs? You mean like Non-Disclosure Agreements?"

Heather scowled at Eliwood, "Agh, screw it, I'm already in here. Yeah, all employees have to sign contracts containing a few NDAs, basically saying they won't reveal company secrets or how we operate."

"Seems a little odd for an insurance company. Wouldn't that mostly be protected by law?" Robin added.

The blonde shrugged, "I don't claim to know everything, because other employees are forbidden from talking about their agreements, too. Lots of the higher-ups barely even communicate with the lower offices, and there's almost no communication between departments."

"You don't say," the attorney muttered, the gears in his head turning, "Thank you, Ms. Luxberg, you may have given me some ideas."

"Bite me," she growled.

"And thank you, Eliwood," he turned, "Did you have a reason for coming down here?"

"I wanted to visit Ms. Luxberg," said the redhead, "and I thought you might be here. I want to continue helping with the case however I can."

"Well, you've been a big help already," Robin conceded, "I have to look around the Heron Corp. building again, maybe you'd care to come along?"

Eliwood smiled, "I'd be happy to."

Robin picked up his things and said his goodbyes to Heather, although his gratitude was rebuked once more. He left the building shrugging.

[October 9th, 10:51 am, Heron Corp.]

Robin felt a few drops of rain hit his hair and rubbed the spot to ensure that it was indeed rain. Hearing a pattering sound rise from the streets behind him, he picked up his pace and entered the building. Police officers were bustling in and out, carrying items and notepads all around and talking loudly to each other.

Colm Fletcher was in the middle of the floor shouting at a trio of policemen as another officer approached him and dropped a camel duffel bag dampened by moisture at his feet before scurrying away. "It looks like Prosecutor Reed is a bit angry with the police investigation," Robin noted.

"Or afraid of you," Eliwood chuckled.

"I wish," Robin nodded before signaling the detective, "Detective Fletcher, how goes the investigation?"

"Oh, it's a real joy," the indigo-haired detective scowled, "Nothin' but rainbows and butterflies here."

"I sense you're being verbally ironic, detective," Eliwood noted.

"Get a load of the genius," Colm rolled his eyes, "Whaddya want?"

"Has any new evidence turned up?" Robin wondered.

"You think I'd be standing here with my thumb up my ass if it had?" the detective growled, "We've been workin' since 5 am to find more evidence and we ain't found a thing!"

"What's that?" Robin pointed at the duffel bag at the detective's feet.

"Huh?" he looked down, "Ah, I guess Peters picked it up... It's wet as all hell, but... Maybe we finally made a breakthrough here after all." The detective pulled at a zipper on the bag and grunted, tugging a few more times before shouting, "What the hell? What's this crap stuck on?"

"I believe there's a lock on the bag, detective," Eliwood noticed.

Colm looked at the bag and put his hands around a copper-colored tiny combination lock that looped through the zipper and connected to a strap on the outside of the bag: it would be impossible to open in this condition. The detective deflated, "Ain't that just my rotten luck?"

"Whose bag is it?" Robin wondered.

"Wish I knew," Detective Fletcher answered, "Well, it's small, maybe we can get some equipment to break it..."

"Wouldn't that be quasi-illegal, since you don't know whose it is?" the attorney suggested.

"Sue me," Colm muttered. He continued to fidget with the bag, seeing if there was some way he could circumvent the lock.

"Well," Robin sighed, "this is a bust. I thought for certain we'd get a little more information for the trial if we checked out the scene again."

"Maybe we'd profit from another glance at the actual room where Ms. Monell was, er... where the crime occurred?" his companion offered.

"Good thought," the attorney agreed, "Detective, do you mind if we look over the scene of the crime one more time?"

"Do whatever blows your skirt up, kid," the detective responded without looking, "just don't touch anything there or I'll have your ass." Robin agreed and moved to the elevator.

[October 9th, 11:12 am, Heron Corp. Sales Office]

Robin walked into the room and frowned straight away. Nothing jumped out at him, nothing had changed. There were numbers placed near all of the major pieces of evidence now, but nothing else had moved. There were no obvious flaws, like he'd been hoping, only the same confusing scene he'd seen before with no additional answers. As he thought it over, however, one thing was different: the room was not as cold as the first time he'd entered it.

"The window's closed again," Eliwood arrived at the same conclusion, walking over to the window and inspecting it, "One of the officers must have gotten too cold. Or maybe they were afraid someone would drop in and steal evidence. It seems to have been locked."

Robin nodded, that was the most logical explanation. Unfortunately, it did nothing for his case. With no other options, the attorney began, "So, is this more or less how you remember the scene when you saw it last night?"

The redhead examined the room broadly again, making sure of his answer, "Yes, it doesn't seem as if anyone's even been in here since I ran out."

 _I guess that's a pretty glowing commendation for the police's caution with this investigation_ , thought Robin. The attorney shrugged, "Well, not much help here, either, then."

Eliwood was cut off before he could reply: "Oh, do unhand me! I'm only looking to use the facilities!"

The pair spun around to find a police officer dragging away a corpulent, pale, balding man with a big orange broom under his nose and small, tight eyes. He wore a mustard or lime-colored suit with a purple tie that clashed with it in fantastic fashion. The man eyed them both as they looked on. Robin took the initiative and stepped forward, "Pardon me, officer, but my name is Robin LeBlanc, I'm on the defense. Can you tell me who this man is and what you're doing with him?"

"I'm keeping watch over him," the cop replied, "Usually, we'd just arrest folks if we wanted to keep them in custody, but Mr. Pope here has special permission—"

"That's quite enough," the man silenced him, "I am Mr. Oliver Pope, the CEO of Heron Corporation."

Robin and Eliwood exchanged glances. The attorney looked at the police officer, "Is Mr. Pope under suspicion of something?"

The officer opened his mouth to answer, but Oliver spoke up, "I can answer for myself, thank you. And I also have the right to refuse to answer. Who are you, so disrespectful as to think you have the right to ask me such prying questions?"

Robin cocked an eyebrow, "Didn't you hear me introduce myself?"

Oliver was looking at his fingernails, "I do apologize, I don't often listen to voices that aren't mine. They are often so terribly dull and insignificant, unlike the unspoiled beauty of my chords."

The attorney blinked a few times, "Um... I'm Robin LeBlanc, attorney at law. I'm Ms. Lorca's defense."

"Yes, yes, nice to meet you," Oliver nodded quickly, "Did you need something?"

"I wanted to know if you were around on the night of the crime," Robin said.

"Ah, you must be collecting evidence for the defense," Oliver decided.

"Uh, yes, I just said that."

"Oh? Forgive me, I don't often listen to voices that aren't mine. They are often so—"

"You just said that, too."

"Don't interrupt me!"

Robin grimaced and looked to his companion, "Is he normally like this?"

"How would I know?" Eliwood shrugged.

"He's your CEO."

"This is the first time I've seen him in person."

Oliver cleared his throat loudly, "What are we whispering about back there? Do you have need of me or not?"

"Mr. Pope, do you recall anything about the murder that occurred here last night?" Robin asked.

"Only that it was a very regrettable affair," the man hung his round head, "I can't stand the thought of people associating my lovely little company with something so foul."

 _"Little" this place is not_. "What about the young woman who lost her life here, Mr. Pope?"

"Ah, yes, a shame," he waved his hand, "Good woman and all that, sad to see her go."

"Clearly."

"Was there anything else you needed, Mister... Oblong?"

"LeBlanc, please. Is there some kind of archival system for email correspondence between employees?"

"That's a rather specific request," the CEO of Heron Corp. chortled, "There's a record kept of most communication of that nature, yes, why?"

"According to some witness testimony, Misses Monell and Lorca were exchanging several emails leading up to the murder. I'd like to look at them."

"Ah. Well, too bad."

"...Excuse me?"

"You'd need company approval to look at those records, and I'm not disclosing them at this time."

"But... but this is a homicide investigation!"

"Indeed. But I have a business to run, a business with big trade secrets that I can't go sharing with every Tom, Dick, and Harry that comes along. Now, if there's nothing further...?"

"You won't disclose those records even if they might save another girl's life?"

"The fate of others is none of my business, Mr. Attorney. Now, Officer Jenkins, as you were."

"Yes, sir," the policeman began to take the old man away again.

"What a bizarre fellow," Eliwood remarked simply.

"I can't believe he won't give out those records," Robin shook his head, "Maybe I can make Detective Fletcher apply some pressure."

"Mr. LeBlanc?" Eliwood pulled him away from his thoughts, "Oughtn't we inspect Ms. Monell's ID?"

"Oh, right," Robin concurred, "The other set of records that we didn't get to see. Yes, take a look."

Eliwood did as he was told and knelt down near the body, keeping several feet away all the same. He looked down at the cadaver's waist and saw the laminated plastic hanging from a clip on her skirt. The card showed a girl with a warm smile and listed the data 'Monell, Nephenee B., ID: 30067182, Sales Division' in a tidy black font. "Well, it's still on her person," Eliwood announced.

Robin cupped his chin, "Hm. Then that means it either never moved or was replaced. Maybe the detective would be willing to try taking some fingerprints... Can you see Lyn's anywhere?"

"Ah, good thinking!" Eliwood smiled. He gazed about the floor a few minutes more before sighing, "Er, sorry, Mr. LeBlanc, it doesn't seem to be here."

"That's all right," Robin folded his arms, "she probably still has it with her."

"What now?" Eliwood wondered, getting up from the floor.

"Let's chat with Detective Fletcher again and see if he's calmed down."

[October 9th, 11:49 am, Heron Corp.]

"Detective," Robin called as the pair advanced toward him once again.

"What?" he turned around, "Oh, it's you. Find something interesting?"

"Sort of," the attorney folded his arms, "Who's Oliver Pope and why haven't I heard of him before now?"

Colm rolled his eyes, "That guy. Oliver Pope is Heron Corp's CEO and so nutty I hear he goes well with ice cream."

"I gleaned that much," Robin nodded, "he had a cop escorting him who mentioned something about 'special permission.' What's that all about?"

Colm frowned, "Sorry, that's classified by the higher-ups. Can't talk about it."

"But you did arrest him, didn't you?"

"Not technically," the detective answered after a pause.

"Oh, for—What does it take to get a straight answer around here?" Robin sighed.

"Look, I'm tryin' my best to give you a hand, kid," Colm produced a cigarette and lit it, "but I'm not gonna risk my job for ya. I swear I'm working with you as much as I can."

"How about this," Robin offered, "have you had anyone dust for prints on Nephenee's ID card?"

"Oh, right," the detective took a drag on his cigarette, "'Cause we finally got the records from that bimbo yesterday..."

"Excuse me," Eliwood frowned, "that, er, 'bimbo' is my boss, and she's really a lovely woman, if a tad... aloof. She's very upset by the loss of Nephenee, that's all."

Colm blew smoke in his face, "Yeah, I guess. It's tough losing someone so close. Doesn't justify holding out on me, though. Not in my book."

"So, do you have prints or not?" the attorney demanded.

"I got a guy comin' in later this afternoon," the detective explained, flouting his cigarette, "be patient. I'll send you a copy of the results when I get 'em."

"Thanks, detective," Robin breathed, "Are you sure there's nothing else you can tell me about Oliver Pope?"

Colm thought about it as smoke wafted up to the ceiling, then added, "I guess advice is free, so here's mine: steer clear of that creep."

"Why? Is he dangerous?"

"Just don't get into it with him, he lives for ruining guys like you and me. Don't make any fuss and you'll save yourself a lot of trouble."

"No promises."

"Your funeral."

"Have you gotten anywhere as far as that bag, detective?" Robin inquired.

A scowl returned to Colm's face, "We tried, but that thing is made outta some real tough stuff. The strap and the zipper are, too: we can't put a dent in anything."

"It must be protecting something pretty valuable, then," the attorney concluded.

"I like to think so," the blue-haired man agreed, "but it doesn't really get us very far. We can only speculate right now."

"Right," the attorney sighed, "what to do..."

"Ladies and gentlemen, please clear the doors, Prosecutor Reed is entering," a voice declared. All the bustling policemen and women on the floor paused in their work to turn and face the prosecutor as he strolled in, hands jammed into his pockets. The blond frowned at Detective Fletcher and at the attorney standing beside him, and sidled up next to them.

"Having a little powwow, lads?" he glared at them accusatorially.

"I was just going over the case and the investigation's progression with Detective Fletcher," Robin declared, trying to mirror the glare.

"Detective," Lloyd Reed's voice sharpened, "I trust you haven't given anything of value away...?"

"N-Never, sir," Colm grit his teeth.

"I'm sure," Lloyd breathed, "leave us."

"Sir," Colm saluted and wandered away.

"All right," Lloyd stood tall and cracked his neck, "what's your gimmick?"

"My 'gimmick?'"

"Yeah, what is it you want? Money? Renown? A position? Let's start the bargaining quickly."

"I... don't want any of that," Robin shook his head, "I want to prove Lyn is not guilty."

"Right," Lloyd rolled his eyes, "look, you don't have to play coy, I'm not wearing a wire. I control the police, not the other way around."

"What makes you think I'll take a bribe?" Robin scoffed.

Lloyd Reed laughed, "You say that like you have a choice. The conviction in your voice is very convincing, truly."

"I really don't know what you're getting at," the attorney shrugged.

"Don't be stupid," Lloyd growled, "you know as well as I do who that girl you're defending is. That's why you told her brother to stay away. You know exactly what you're doing, so I'm counteracting it now. I'm giving you a way out: tell me how much Don Tolstoy is paying you, and I'll double it."

"I don't want your money," Robin refuted.

"Then what?" Lloyd scrutinized the attorney's face, "Don't tell me you're sweet on the little tart."

"No, nothing like that!" Robin rebutted, blood running to his cheeks, "I'm not going to be bribed or coerced, I'm sticking with this defense."

Llpyd Reed clicked his teeth, "Sorry you feel that way. If you don't mind, then, why don't you vacate my crime scene?"

"Yours?" the attorney cocked an eyebrow, "I have as much right to be here as you."

"Gods, I hate the ones who don't know the rules," Lloyd told the ceiling, "I've tried to be civil, but if you stand around here any longer, you're going to start pissing me off. Get moving."

"Make me."

The prosecutor snapped his fingers and a row of police officers assembled at his back, staring at the young attorney, "Back away slowly. You're trifling with powers you don't comprehend."

"It may be best to cut our losses, whatever Mr. Reed is getting at, Mr. LeBlanc," Eliwood suggested, "He seems quite serious."

"But I'm not—"

"I'm certain you're not what he's accusing you of being, Mr. LeBlanc, but pride cometh before the fall, as they say."

Robin bowed his head before muttering, "This isn't over."

Lloyd Reed shook his head dismissively, "With your type, it never is. Good day, Mr. LeBlanc."

As the pair left the building, Robin felt his pocket vibrate and pulled out his phone, "Robin LeBlanc, how can I help you?"

"It's me, Robin, check the caller ID," Anna chided him.

"All right, you got me," he laughed, "What's the story?"

"Just checking in," she answered, "I haven't heard from you since yesterday."

"Did you get in the office all right?"

"Yep, no problems. How goes the investigation?"

"Not great. We keep hitting walls."

"Who's 'we?'"

Robin glanced at the redhead beside him, "Oh, a co-worker of Lyn's, Eliwood Fremont, is with me." Robin covered the phone's speaker and addressed Eliwood, "My secretary, Anna." He nodded.

"Is that right? Is he the red-haired one?"

"Yes—er, how do you know about that?"

"I watched some of the trial on the news this morning. Mr. Fremont and his buddy are some good-looking fellas."

"I hope you didn't drool on my carpet."

"Someone's jealous. It's okay, you're right to be envious of Scarlet Heart and Big Blue there."

"Please tell me you're not actually calling them that."

"All I'm saying is I'll buy whatever they're selling, if you get my meaning."

"Is there a point to this conversation?"

"How about a 'Hey, thanks for checking to see if I'm alive, Anna?'"

"Somehow, I get the feeling I'll still be hearing your voice even when I'm dead and buried."

"I'm going to pretend that was a profession of kindness and friendship. Now, let me give you a couple'a hot tips!"

"...I think I misheard you."

"Tips! I've got a pair of sweet tips for you!"

"...Maybe... there's some kind of interference on my end..."

"I'm giving you information!"

"Oh. Well, do go on."

"What'd ya think I said?"

"Not important, what's the word?"

"Well, one is that somebody called on Heather Luxberg's behalf saying she wants to speak to you, and the other is something you didn't hear at the trial: apparently, Heron Corp's CEO was in the building that night."

"What?! He was in the building the night of the crime?!"

"That's what they're claiming on the news. You'll have to find proof of it, though."

"Thanks, Anna, that's amazing. I'll drop by and talk to Heather and then I'll be back a little later, okay?"

"Give Ms. Luxberg my regards, huh?"

"Do you know her?"

"No, but I'd like to."

"Wha... Are you drooling over her, too?!"

"Hey, Goldilocks's porridge looks just right is all I'm saying."

"This conversation is over," Robin pressed the button on his phone and stuffed it into his pocket. Eliwood was staring at him. "Long story," the attorney explained, leading the way back to his car.

[October 9th, 1:03 pm, Detention Center]

Any urge Robin had to remark about Heather's earlier reticence had disappeared when he looked at her. Her face was red and her eyes were hidden, partially by puffy cheeks, and partially by her long, curly blonde hair. She was staring at the floor even as the pair sat down. "Ms. Luxberg?" Robin began, "We heard that you wanted to talk to us."

"Yes," she said soberly, "I realize I've been acting foolishly. I wanted so badly to find the guilty party, I was willing to believe it was anyone. When they said Lyn, I made the connections in my head and rationalized it so it would fit, but I know it's not the truth. And the truth is what I want, so the truth is what I'm going to give you."

"Forgive me," Robin said as softly as he could, "but I'm not sure I understand."

"Take this," she handed him a manilla envelope, "No one can know I gave it to you until the time is right, understand?"

The attorney opened the envelope and took a look inside. Bunches of paper displayed tons of information, but in particular the name Oliver Pope was listed with a large number of other company names, suggesting some kind of connection, as well as a long list of people's names that didn't seem at all familiar to Robin. He noticed a few police codes connected to Pope as well. The ones he could recall were for sexual assault and lewd conduct, and one was for obstruction of justice. "I think, but... I'm not sure... how can I prove this was connected to the murder?"

"You're a smart guy," the ghost of a smirk appeared on her face, "You'll figure it out. You have to, or you're sunk."

"No pressure there," he sighed.

"I'll get you going on the right track," she breathed, "You know, our sales reps don't take calls, they make them."

"You mean Heron Corp. calls its clients, not the other way around?" Robin inferred.

"Right on the money," Heather nodded.

Robin thought on the idea a moment longer before getting a picture in his head, "Ah. I think I understand where you're going with that now."

"Nephenee was an amazing woman, Robin," Heather said, staring at the wall behind him, "Passionate and driven, but always cheerful and never overly serious. She was... I don't think I'll ever find anyone quite like her again."

"I understand, Ms. Luxberg," he lowered his eyes, "Or... maybe I don't, but I'm trying. I think I can."

"She never gave up on what she wanted, no one could scare her. And she was smart beyond her pay grade."

"I don't know what to say."

"Figure out the truth, then tell it to the court. Then you'll have said enough. There's a reason we were held back from disclosing so much."

Robin nodded, "Thank you, Ms. Luxberg."

"Call me Heather," she insisted, "only people I hate call me 'Ms. Luxberg.'"

[Turtledove Turnabout ~ Investigation Day 2-End]


	7. The Turtledove Turnabout: Trial Day 2

[October 10th, 9:37 am, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 4]

In as many times as he'd entered the courtroom, the place never seemed to get any warmer. Even on hot summer days, the soft whites and golds of the room paired with the myriad of reflective surfaces made it feel like sitting in an igloo. For that reason, concentrating was made quite difficult for the attorney as he examined his notes once more with heavy eyes. He added a few modifications to earlier notes with a bright red pen as he began to hear footsteps on the other side of the room. He caught a glimpse of Lloyd Reed's shoes marching into the prosecution lobby, as well as those of several police officers behind him. The sight of those shoes made Robin scowl and focus even more intensely on his review.

As he sat, half tempted to lean back and doze off, he realized Colm Fletcher was walking toward him, "Hey, hotshot, I got somethin' for ya, but I gotta make it quick."

"Shoot," Robin nodded.

"You remember that bag from yesterday?" The attorney nodded. A worried crease appeared on the detective's brow, "We finally busted the thing open, it was made of some really weird lining, but the inside had blood all over it, plus some clothes. We don't know whose blood yet, though."

"That's a big find, detective," the attorney's eyes widened.

Colm rolled his eyes, "No kiddin'. Don't go tellin' everybody straight out, though, okay? I have no idea if it's even related."

"Understood. Thanks, detective," Robin smiled. The detective hurried off, rejoining the march of police footsteps down the hall. Robin, meanwhile, focused intently on the possibilities presented by the new piece of evidence.

He focused so much, in fact, that he failed to notice the police car that pulled into the lot, and the passenger that was led out of it with her hands clasped behind her back. When she was within a few feet, Lyn whispered at him, "Mr. LeBlanc?"

Robin picked his head up and felt his cheeks flush, "Oh, sorry, uh, hello, Lyn."

"Hello," she giggled.

"How are you feeling? Are you doing okay?" he stood, straightening his hair.

"I'm fine, Mr. LeBlanc," the girl bowed her head, "especially since you're defending me. You did a spectacular job last time, I'm sure you can pull it off again."

"I'll certainly try my best," he returned. Lyn nodded and the guard behind her glanced at her and then the attorney before her, offering an inquisitive look. "Before you go, Lyn, I wanted to ask you a few things, just to keep the story straight," Robin added.

"By all means."

"You said Nephenee pushed you during your meeting?"

"Yes."

"From the front? She leaned forward and pushed you?"

"Yes."

"All right. And then you were knocked unconscious?"

"Yes, but I don't think Nephenee did that. Not directly, anyway. I only felt the hit after I pushed her back."

"Interesting... Have you met Heron Corp's CEO, Oliver Pope?"

"I'm afraid not. Entry-level employees don't really get to see the executives."

"I see. One last question: do you have your employee ID with you?"

"Oh! Yes," she gestured toward her front pocket only to remember her hands were still bound, "Uh, I can't quite..." Robin nodded and, blushing a bit, reached into the pocket and seized the card himself. Lyn chuckled, "I didn't even think about it until now, but as soon as you reminded me, I realized I still had it."

"Would you mind if I held onto it for just a little while?" he asked.

Lyn's eyebrows creased, "I'm not sure... it's my only one, and if something happens to it, I could get fired..."

"I'll take good care of it, Lyn," the attorney produced a plastic bag, "I promise. I'm just going to put it in here and hold onto it, maybe to use it as evidence if it comes to that. Trust me, you'll be glad I did."

"All right," her face explained she was not entirely convinced, "just please don't lose it."

"You have my word," he held up a hand. The emerald-haired girl nodded and let the police officer lead her toward a side door of the courtroom.

Robin considered taking a look at his notes once more, but no sooner had the conversation finished than the bailiff called to him: "Mr. LeBlanc? His Honor is just about ready, if you'd like to head in."

Robin nodded, thanked the bailiff, and walked in as the door was opened for him.

[October 10th, 10:01 am, District Court-Courtroom No. 4]

The judge cleared his throat, pounding his gavel once to garner the court's attention, "Ladies and gentlemen, this court will now reconvene for the trial of Ms. Lyndis Lorca. Are both counsels adequately prepared?"

"The prosecution stands ready, Your Honor," Lloyd Reed declared, stabbing his opposing counsel with a glare.

Robin placed a hand on his desk, "The defense... is also ready, Your Honor."

"Very good," the judge surmised, interlocking his fingers, "Now, as I recall, the last session ended when it was revealed that Ms. Heather Luxberg was concealing valuable records from the court."

"Correct, Your Honor," Robin pounced, "Heather—er, Ms. Luxberg had an inappropriate workplace relationship with the victim that would have gotten her fired if it were made public, and so she withheld the records because they showed the victim apparently getting up and leaving the room after the presumed time of her death."

"Ms. Luxberg has since been taken into custody," Lloyd added, "she was terminated immediately, according to her supervisor."

The judge shook his head, "How very regrettable. It is truly unfortunate how many lives I have seen fall apart within these very walls."

 _Yikes, that's a little heavy_ , Robin sighed.

"In any case," the judge resumed, "I made the request that both parties seek out additional evidence in order to provide explanations for the discrepancy that was discovered. Mr. Reed, as the prosecutor of this case, have you anything new to show the court?"

"Indeed," Lloyd nodded, "although it may be telling more than showing. The prosecution would like to offer the testimony of a yet-unheard witness: one Hector Sturakst."

The judge nodded, "Very good. Mr. Sturakst, if you are present, please approach the witness stand."

A bulky blue-haired figure stood up from the gallery and complied with the request. His shoulders eclipsed and engulfed the small podium as he stood before it. "Your name and occupation, please, sir," Lloyd Reed demanded.

"Hector Sturakst. I'm a sales rep, like Eliwood, Lyn, and Nephenee," he replied.

"Thank you," Lloyd nodded, "now, will you kindly tell the court what it is you witnessed?"

"Sure thing," he folded his arms. The blue-haired man was staring gravely at Robin. "I was at home on the night the murder occurred," Hector began, "nothing special, but I got a call from Eliwood well after normal hours. I thought that was weird, so I decided I should pick up. Later, I would learn that he made that call after he called the police. When Eliwood told me what he saw, I rushed right on down and found him on the floor where our office is located. When I looked inside, I saw the scene—it really was messed up, seeing Nephenee's body like that, and Lyn right beside her. Anyhow, I remember looking at both girls for a while, and I got this funny feeling, like somethin' wasn't quite right. Sure enough, when I got back home after the cops let us go the following morning, I realized what was wrong: Nephenee had been missing her ID tag."

"No further questions," Lloyd said curtly, his eyes shut.

"Very well," the judge nodded, "Mr. LeBlanc, your cross-examination?"

 _Something's way off about this_ , Robin thought, _what Hector just said... that can't be right, there's a glaring flaw there, and Lloyd should know about it. Is he... trying to trap me somehow? I'm not sure. I do have to at least look into this, though_.

"Mr. Sturakst," Robin breathed, "may I extrapolate that the conclusion you anticipate to your observations is that Ms. Lorca stole the victim's ID?"

"That's right," he agreed.

"Then I have to tell you that that cannot be true," Robin rebutted.

"What?" Hector's brows knitted.

The attorney shook his head, "I followed up a secondary investigation yesterday as well, and I know for a fact that the victim's ID was still on her person at that time, meaning it couldn't have been stolen by the defendant."

The blue-haired man's face twisted, "No way, man, I know what I saw. I'm entirely certain Nephenee didn't have her ID on her when Eliwood and I showed up that night."

"Hector, listen to me," Robin insisted, "I'm telling you you must be making a mistake, because what you saw isn't possible."

"Let's not be so hasty," Lloyd interrupted him, "It is still very possible that Ms. Lorca obtained the ID, used it to open the doors and then returned everything, including herself to its proper place."

"And why would she do that?" Robin slapped his desk.

"Why, to create this exact conflict, of course," Lloyd tapped his forehead.

"What?!"

"Don't be dense, Mr. LeBlanc. If Ms. Lorca could make it seem like someone else had used Ms. Monell's ID whilst she lay 'unconscious' in the room it would create the perfect alibi for her, a sham of a story that it seems you've played right into."

"Objection!" Robin shouted, "Th-That's ridiculous? If Lyn stole the ID then surely the more logical move would be to flee the scene!"

"Run away from the crime with a crucial loose end either right in her pocket or out in the open for anyone to find?" Lloyd shook his head, "Your rookie status is showing, Mr. LeBlanc; that is hardly a logical move at all when she had the perfect opportunity to create this false 'third party' scenario."

"Absurd," the attorney refuted, "How can the prosecution hope to prove such an accusation?"

Lloyd Reed smiled broadly, "I was hoping you'd ask. The lab boys took a look at the ID by my request yesterday. Fingerprint testing revealed matches for the victim and the defendant only."

"No...!" Robin cursed, "That still doesn't prove what you're claiming. There are a dozen other times Lyn's fingerprints might have accidentally ended up on the victim's ID; they were co-workers, it could have happened any time!"

"Fortune does not favor you today, Mr. LeBlanc," Lloyd shook his head, "The ID cards contain very special mechanical components that allow their unique signatures to be identified, but these components are easily ruined by exposure to outside elements. As such, employees must have their cards scrubbed once every week to avoid damage. You see where I'm going with this, don't you?"

The judge answered for him, "You mean to say that since the tag was found after the victim's work day had ended, the prints on it could only have been made after working hours?"

The prosecutor smiled, "Just so. Therefore, Mr. LeBlanc, there is indisputable proof that it was Ms. Lorca who touched the victim's ID, resolving the conflict created by the record evidence!"

"Ack!" the attorney clutched his chest, feeling as though he'd just endured a rather powerful jab to it.

Lloyd Reed continued, "Yes, now you see. Without the convenient contradiction provided by that evidence, you are without recourse: all the evidence points directly to Lyndis Lorca."

"No..." the attorney felt sweat upon his brow. _That can't be right_ , he thought, _is there really nothing else? Can't anything explain this that doesn't condemn Lyn_?

The judge pounded his gavel, "I am inclined to agree with Mr. Reed's conclusion, Mr. LeBlanc. Unless you can provide some information to cast doubt on the prosecution's findings, I'm afraid there seems to be little reason to further prolong this trial."

"W-Wait, Your Honor!" Robin begged, "This still doesn't make any sense! Why didn't Eliwood mention this in his testimony?"

"He simply failed to notice it," Lloyd shrugged, "anything else?"

Robin looked to the left and right, "Uh, when did Mr. Fremont call you, Mr. Sturakst?"

"After he called the police, I said that," Hector responded.

"But can you tell me the exact time?" Robin hoped.

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "What possible relevance could that information have?"

"Your Honor," the attorney was sweating bullets, "I beg you, just allow me a moment and I'll make everything clear."

The judge eyed him suspiciously, "I am very seriously doubting much of what you have said thus far, Mr. LeBlanc. I will allow you this one last chance, but if this inquiry does not introduce new information, I will end the trial immediately, am I understood?"

Robin swallowed feeling his vision fade, "Y-Yes, Your Honor."

"Very well. Mr. Sturakst, please answer the question," the judge requested.

"Uh, lessee..." he looked at his phone, "says here... 11:21 pm."

"11:21?!" Robin repeated, clenching his teeth.

"Yeah, why?"

"You said Eliwood called you after he called the police!" Robin insisted.

"Yeah?"

"And you said you 'rushed straight there!' But you told me you didn't get there until after midnight!"

"W-Well, maybe I didn't 'rush' per se, but traffic was pretty crappy..."

"Mr. LeBlanc!" Lloyd cut him off, "Are you accusing Mr. Fremont or Mr. Sturakst of something?"

"N-No..." Robin shrank, "but... this doesn't add up. Why would Eliwood wait so long to call Hector and tell him about this?"

The prosecutor shrugged, "He didn't think about it until later, it was that simple."

"I refuse to accept that!" Robin argued, "We need to ask Mr. Fremont ourselves."

"Nonsense!" Lloyd shouted, "This charade of yours has gone on long enough! Your Honor, I demand you put an end to this circus of a trial!"

"I'm afraid I find your findings suspect at best, Mr. LeBlanc," the judge shook his head, "As such, I am left with no choice. I hereby—"

"Hold it!" a voice muted the courtroom. Eliwood stood in the doorway, "I heard that Hector was testifying today, and I wondered why he didn't tell me. If Mr. LeBlanc says something's amiss, I'm prepared to answer whatever questions have arisen."

"There's no point!" Lloyd argued, "We've tread and retread this ground, there's nothing new to find here!"

"Eliwood, why did you wait so long to call Hector?"

"Mr. LeBlanc—"

"What do you mean? I called as soon as I finished calling the police."

"And when was that?"

"Um... I'm not sure... if I check my phone, it says... 8:47 pm."

Gasps and murmurs filled the courtroom.

"Ridiculous!" Lloyd shouted, "Hector Sturakst didn't receive that call until 11:21 pm! Mr. Fremont is lying!"

"I have the record right here," Eliwood lifted up his phone. The redhead walked forward a few steps and showed it to the judge who confirmed the time.

"But then why did Hector not get the call at that time?!" Lloyd growled.

"Exactly what I want to know," Robin slammed his fists on his desk, "Did you talk to Mr. Fremont during that call, Mr. Sturakst?"

"Uh, no, I just kinda listened to what he said and jumped in my car."

"Eliwood!" Robin pressed, "Did you hear Hector when you called him?"

"Now that I think about it... I'm not sure..."

"What about the police? What did they say when you called?"

"No one actually said anything when I was describing the scene. Once I finished, somebody told me a dispatch had already been sent to my location."

"W-What?!" Colm Fletcher stood up, "That can't be right! That's an automated message we use when we receive multiple calls from the same approximate area!"

"Th-That means..." the prosecutor's voice shuddered.

"Someone else already called the police before Eliwood!" Robin finished his thought. More mutters of surprise emanated from the gallery. "Somehow, Eliwood's phone was creating all sorts of impossibilities that night: he was the first one on the scene, but not the first to call the police, and he called Hector more than two hours later than his phone indicates!"

"But how...?!" Lloyd slammed a fist on his desk.

"Now, remind me, where did the police dispatch register the call as having come from?" Robin pressed.

"The CEO's office," Detective Fletcher answered, "Son of a bitch..."

"Then that's it!" Robin slapped his desk once more, "There was someone else at the scene of the crime around the time of the murder: someone in the CEO's office!"

"Don't you _dare_...!" Lloyd growled.

The attorney tapped his forehead, "And at such a late hour, who else would have been there but the CEO himself?"

The judge pounded his gavel several times as the chatter in the court was steadily rising, "Order! Order, I say! Mr. LeBlanc, are you suggesting what I believe you're suggesting?"

"Given that I have no other choice," Robin nodded, "I am, Your Honor. The defense would like to formally indict the CEO of Heron Corporation, Oliver Pope, in the murder of Nephenee Monell!"

"You imbecile!" Lloyd roared.

"Order! ORDER!" the judge pounded his gavel a few more times, "Unless you have significant evidence to counter this claim, I'm afraid I see little choice, Mr. Reed."

"I...! That's not...! Of course there's...!"

"Don't trouble yourself, Mr. Reed," at once, heads whipped around to the back of the courtroom once again, this time finding a squat, corpulent man before them. Oliver Pope addressed the crowd, "I was coming here to see what, exactly, had become of my employee so that I could see where our training went wrong and remediate it, but I come all this way only to hear baseless accusations and hotheaded lawyers running their mouths... Hah! How inconceivably gauche!"

"And you are?" the judge blinked.

The man pulled up the lapels of his mustard suit, "I am Oliver Pope, CEO of Heron Corporation and the defense's latest patsy, it would seem."

"Do you deny calling the police?" Robin leered at him.

He shook his head, "Not at all. But I would prefer to make formal answers to these questions so that needless repetition may be avoided."

"Are you saying you want to testify?" Lloyd stared at the squat man.

"Of course," he smiled.

The judge blinked a few more times, then nodded, "Uh... very well... this is highly unorthodox, however, I suppose, given the circumstances, your arrival is, in point of fact, a great convenience to this court. We will thus take a fifteen minute recess to prepare you for your testimony and to swear you in, Mr. Pope—"

"Pish-posh," the balding man scoffed, "We'll do it right now. I have a very lovely lunch waiting for me in the near future, so I'd like to stamp out this little attorney's complaints straight away."

The judge cocked an eyebrow, "Er, but Mr. Pope, I cannot allow—"

"Balderdash! Poppycock! Horsetails! If the prosecutor has no objections to my testimony, then I am able to begin immediately, isn't that right?"

"Well, technically—"

"And the prosecutor has no objections, do you, Mr. Reed?"

"...No."

"Then there you have it. Let's get this testimony over with."

 _This guy doesn't mess around_ , Robin sighed to himself, _What's his game? He's putting himself at greater risk by testifying, isn't he_?

"Uh, right..." Lloyd grimaced as the CEO took his place at the witness stand, "Will the witness state his name and occupation?"

"Oliver Pope," he smiled with a gleam in his eyes, "the CEO of Heron Corporation, the greatest multinational insurance conglomerate in the world!"

"Quite," Lloyd folded his arms, "Would you care to tell us your version of events, Mr. Pope?"

"I certainly would," he chuckled and his stomach shook, "I was in my office that fateful night, counting up revenue, managing supervisors' shifts, examining stocks, a whole host of managerial endeavors—alas, the life of a successful entrepreneur! I was nearly finished with my duties that evening when I heard an awful sound from a few levels below. I must admit, because I am not a man of great stature, I dreaded seeking out the noise for fear of an assault on my person. All the same, I braved the dangers and took the elevator down to the eleventh floor, and when the doors opened, I was quickly treated to a view of the horrific murder! I was so frightened I scrambled back to the elevator and returned to my office, hoping I might elude the murderer, were he or she still around. I called the police as soon as I returned to my office, just before 8:30."

Lloyd nodded, "So you see, Mr. LeBlanc, a solid alibi; Mr. Pope had nothing to do with the murders."

"I'm ready for my cross-examination, Your Honor," Robin glared at the balding man before him.

"Er, yes," the judge stammered, "do go on."

"Can anyone beyond yourself account for your whereabouts, Mr. Pope?"

"Unfortunately, no man or woman can, however, I, like all of my employees, carry an ID card. It is the only card which can grant access to my office, and the records for that night indicate their use specifically at the times I described."

"Those times aren't on the records I possess."

"You have a limited copy of the records. Executive copies are withheld for client and business security reasons, but I can make an exception for such an extenuating circumstance."

"How can we trust that this record isn't doctored in some way?"

"You can ask our Technical Services and Security Engineer, Mr. Soren Nuache, for a copy directly from the company's source information, if it pleases you."

"Detective Fletcher?"

"On it."

"You saw into the room after Nephenee was murdered?"

"Indeed."

"So the door must have been open."

"Yes."

"How do we know it wasn't you who killed Nephenee and rendered Lyn unconscious?"

"Do you have any evidence that suggests that? Fingerprints? Blood? DNA? No, the physical evidence all points to Ms. Lorca, as I understand."

"But you could have changed any number of things—"

"Objection!" Lloyd called, "It's a moot point, Mr. LeBlanc. If you have no evidence implicating Mr. Pope, then suspicion cannot be shifted."

"You say you fled to your office, why?"

"Don't be daft, boy, it was because I saw the victim dead!"

"How could you tell she was dead?"

"I saw two bodies on the floor and a smear of blood on the wall. I put two and two together."

"You didn't think to ask if either of them were okay?"

"Objection," Lloyd declared again, "The quality of Mr. Pope's decisions is irrelevant."

"If you saw all this before Eliwood, why didn't you come forward?"

"I was quite busy, and I heard his story. It doesn't differ at all from mine. I've stayed away from this trial altogether as a result; I haven't looked into anything until the matter is sorted legally."

"How did you know to go to the eleventh floor?"

"I took what might be called an 'educated guess.' The sound came from several floors below, so I went down to whereabouts I assumed it had come from. If I hadn't found anything, I would have checked the floors above and below that one, too."

"Hey," heads in the court turned as a panting Detective Fletcher reentered the courtroom, "I checked with that Nuache guy, the record's legit." After finishing his explanation, the detective handed the report back to Robin, who scanned it carefully.

"This says you left your office at 8:11 pm. That's seven minutes after Lyn entered the office and eleven minutes before someone used Nephenee's ID on the door again."

"Just so."

"But Lyn wasn't moving at all when you got down there, was she?"

"Not per my recollection."

 _Dammit_ , Robin's face fell, _I've got nothing. He has an answer for everything I can ask. He's perfectly prepared for all my questions, almost like he's been preparing for this... There's no question, then, it has to be him. But how can I possibly prove it? I have no evidence whatsoever_!

But a moment's thought seized Robin immediately and made his eyes grow wide. He was taken back to his conversation with Heather briefly and felt the gears begin to turn in his head. His lips quivering and voice shaky, the attorney asked, "Mr. Pope... do you have any idea why Ms. Lorca would kill Ms. Monell?"

"If I recall correctly, it had something to do with harassment of some kind. Ms. Monell had been denied a promotion and blamed Ms. Lorca, Ms. Lorca contacted Human Resources... a right mess, really," Oliver answered, stroking his chin.

"Mr. Pope," a smile began to grow on Robin's face, "How, exactly do you know that?"

"W-What is that supposed to mean?" the large man sputtered.

"Prior to this trial, only one person knew about the conflict between Ms. Monell and Ms. Lorca in so much detail," Robin noted, "That was the victim's lover, Ms. Luxberg."

"W-Well, I saw some of the trial..."

Robin wagged his finger, "Wait a moment. That directly contradicts something you said earlier. You claimed you didn't follow or involve yourself in any part of this trial."

"I— what? Y-You...!" Oliver's face twisted and he glared at the attorney, grinding his teeth, "H-Hey, prosecutor! Say something!"

"Mr. Pope must have made his statement in error, or phrased it poorly," Lloyd coughed, "I believe he meant that he, personally, did not wish to enter into the trial period, but this information was available on the news, it's been circulating all around."

"Objection!" Robin projected, "As a friend of someone who watches the news religiously, I can tell you that no such information has been made public. Names and faces have been shown, but under Ylissean law, sensitive trial information records can't be released until after a verdict has been handed down. Mr. Pope, there's no way you should know what you know."

"Fine," the man grumbled, "when I heard about the trial, I looked into their company emails to see if I could find anything, are you satisfied now?"

"You can do that?" Robin cocked an eyebrow.

"Of course I can!" Oliver sighed, "I'm the CEO, I have access to everyone's business-related data, including work emails."

"See?" Lloyd shook his head, "that wasn't so hard. Even Mr. Pope's shoulders are surely feeling a bit lighter now, and your confusion has evaporated. May we end this frankly exhausting affair yet?"

Robin shook his head, too, "Mr. Pope, does this access include usernames for emails?"

"Of course."

"And the contents of those emails?"

"Naturally."

"And the histories of sent and received messages?"

"Yes, what do you—"

"And the passwords of those email accounts?"

"Yes, yes, yes, what in the world are you getting at, boy?" the CEO huffed.

"You do have access to the passwords?" Robin slapped his hands on his desk, "Then isn't it possible that you, yourself, could log into any of those emails and thereby pose as any of your own employees?"

"Wh-What?!" Oliver jumped.

"Just what I said," the attorney smiled, "If you have passwords and usernames, you can access any of your employees' company emails and pretend to be one of them sending a message to the others."

Oliver's face resembled a tomato as he shouted, "Just what are you insinuating, you sniveling little—"

"I share Mr. Pope's outrage," Lloyd leered at him, "Even if he was able to do that sort of thing, and I'm not ready to concede that he can, he would have no reason to!"

"Exactly! Why would I want to impersonate the dull life of one of my inferiors?" the balding man exclaimed.

"What if you wanted to start a fight?" Robin grinned.

"Objection!" Lloyd yelled, "The defense is speculating. You have no evidence of what you're claiming."

"Don't I?" Robin folded his arms smugly.

"Not ostensibly, no," the judge decided.

"W-Well," the attorney deflated a bit, "what I mean is, I can provide evidence."

"Well, don't keep us in suspense," the prosecutor's eyes were pure ice, "what will you show the court as evidence that Mr. Pope impersonated an employee's email to try to instigate a fight?"

Robin took a deep breath, _This all hinges on a guess, basically. I hope to Naga I'm on the right track, but if I'm going to fail, I might as well fail spectacularly_. "I can't provide the evidence, actually," the attorney said.

"Ha!" Lloyd scoffed, "I thought as much. Are we about finished here?"

"Someone else will have to provide it for me."

"What?!"

"Ms. Lyndis Lorca, would you mind logging into your email for me? You can use my phone, if you like," Robin handed her the phone as prosecutor and witness alike stared daggers into him.

"What is the meaning of this?" Lloyd demanded, "This exercise is pointless, we—"

"Your Honor, I'm trying to make a point, if the prosecution would allow me a moment to actually do so," Robin rolled his eyes.

"Agreed, be patient, Mr. Reed," said the judge.

"And Mr. Pope," Robin continued, "while Lyn does that, would you mind using your access to log into Nephenee's account? Just remember, the bailiff will be watching you if you try anything... uncouth."

"You think you intimidate me, you urchin?" Oliver laughed, "Fine, I'll indulge you, just don't get uppity."

"All done," Lyn announced, singsong, "What did you want to see?"

"What is the address of the email that originally sent you the message about the promotion?"

"Nepheneemonell at Heron dot biz."

"Interesting. Mr. Pope, or bailiff, whichever of you prefers, what is the address for Nephenee Monell's email?"

The bailiff answered, "Says 'nepheneemonell at Heron dot biz.'"

"And," Robin glanced at the judge, "looking at the 'sent' folder for that email account, does an email featuring the subject line 'Your conduct' appear anywhere?"

"No, sir."

"How about in the deleted files, or any other folder?"

"We're turning up nothing."

"So the email that Nephenee apparently sent threatening Lyn doesn't exist anywhere on Ms. Monell's account."

"Objection!" Lloyd slammed his fist on his desk, "She might have erased it herself to cover her tracks! That doesn't prove that Mr. Pope arranged that—"

"Objection!" Robin responded, "I'm aware. Don't worry, Lloyd, we'll get there."

Lloyd growled and slammed his fist on his desk.

"Now," the attorney continued, "Lyn, the emails you responded to when Nephenee talked to you about the HR complaint, what was the address there?"

"Nepheneemonell at Heron dot biz."

"So, that conversation was with the same Nephenee, apparently, though the content of those emails doesn't seem to acknowledge the email accusing Lyn of stealing her promotion. Bailiff, since Mr. Pope's feeling shy, do you mind reading the address of the email that addresses Nephenee about a harassment complaint?"

"HRDept at Heron dot biz."

"Ms. Lorca," Robin took in another deep breath: this was the big one, "Is that the email address you were provided for your office's human resources department?"

"Yes."

"Now, Detective Fletcher?"

"What's up?" the detective looked up.

"Can you get Mr. Nuache back on the phone and ask if there's any record of a harassment complaint against Nephenee, or of an email sent from the HR department addressed to Nephenee with the subject 'Concerns of Harassment?'"

"Can do."

"And what could possibly be the point of all this, Mr. LeBlanc?" Lloyd demanded, rolling his eyes.

"If those two emails are faked, like I think they are, it will prove someone was deliberately trying to start a fight between Nephenee and Lyn," he surmised.

"And in what way does that implicate Mr. Pope?" Lloyd demanded, "You've been dancing around it long enough, let's have a real answer."

"You want to know, Mr. Reed?" Robin stood tall behind his desk.

"Desperately," the prosecutor replied, dripping with irony.

"This," Robin pulled the folder Heather had given him out from his briefcase, "is a police record, among other very interesting bits of data."

"Where did you get that?!" Oliver shouted.

"A lot of information appears on these pages, I mean a _lot_. There's counts of sexual assault and corruption of a minor, embezzlement, blackmailing, insurance fraud, extortion, well... it might be shorter to list what's _not_ on this rap sheet," Robin smiled.

"What... where are you going with this?" Lloyd swallowed.

"Do you know whose it is? I'll give you a hint, he's male, and he's in this room right now, very close to us," the attorney widened his eyes to increase the pressure.

"What?!" Lloyd stepped back, "You're not serious... you couldn't have...?!"

"That's right, ladies and gents," Robin faced the gallery, "please welcome career criminal and pervert Oliver Pope!"

"You scum-sucking lawyer dirtbag!" the balding man cried, "How dare you tarnish my good name like that?!"

"I know, and after you paid the police so much to bury it," the attorney replied with mock sympathy, "By the by, does anyone want to know where Mr. Pope got all that police bribe money?"

"I'll wring your scrawny neck, you—"

"Bailiff, restrain Mr. Pope," ordered the judge.

"Aside from all his own dirty deeds done for a little more than dirt-cheap, this folder contains a list of over a hundred people, all known to the police as participants and major players in human trafficking organizations!" Robin flourished.

"Wh-What?!" Lloyd's eyes bulged.

The attorney continued, "Now, I finally see the reason behind something that's been bothering me since I started this investigation: why are all of Heron Corp's sales reps so young?"

"What are you going on about?!" Oliver shouted.

"Lyn, tell me, what do you sell?" Robin asked politely.

"Uh, insurance policies," she answered, "sometimes we check with current policy holders, too, to see if they want to renew. Most of them do."

"Do your clients call you?" he continued.

"No, we're given a list at the beginning of the day and we call everyone on it and ask a set of questions," the emerald-haired girl provided.

"Did you ever ask why that was, Lyn?" the attorney cocked an eyebrow.

Lyn blushed, "N-No... I... I didn't want to lose the job, and the managers were very strict about not saying anything... I didn't mean any harm."

He nodded, "I know you didn't. Neither did Eliwood, Hector, or Nephenee, but they were all doing Oliver Pope's dirty work without realizing it, because you know what those 'insurance policies' really are?"

"I'm on the edge of my seat!" the judge declared with wide eyes.

Robin grinned and bowed his head, "That list of names... they're a fraction of the ones Heron Corp. has assigned to its sales reps. What these kids fresh out of college have really been selling are blackmail packets! Oliver Pope has used his money and connections in illicit communities to trap sex traffickers into endless loops of paying him blackmail money in a pyramid scheme so insane it would make the greediest stockbroker blush!"

"GAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" Oliver Pope shouted, falling forward.

The court fell silent, soft and light, the slightest movement could be heard, but it wasn't because not a single man or woman even so much as shifted their feet. Everyone remained deathly quiet until the hissing of one man's breathing could be heard.

Lloyd Reed's eyes were burning, capillaries surging red along with the rest of the blood around his face filling into his cheeks, "Well, congratulations, Mr. LeBlanc. You proved that Oliver Pope is a sexual deviant, a corrupt money-grubber, and a manipulative bastard... but you know what you haven't proven? You haven't proven that he murdered Nephenee Monell, which is the entire point of this trial!"

A few murmurs spread throughout the court.

"I know that," Robin nodded, _Although, I was kinda hoping you'd all forget it..._ "You didn't think I was finished, did you? That was just the motive for Oliver Pope to have committed the murder."

"And in what way did that... tirade establish a motive?" asked the prosecutor.

"Who do you think dug up all this dirt?" Robin smiled.

"No..." Lloyd groaned.

"That's right, Nephenee Monell herself," Robin listened to some of those returning to the court, "Nephenee found out this information about Oliver Pope when she investigated some other departments in her workplace at the urging of a third party who will remain nameless for their safety."

"So then," Lloyd Reed folded his arms, "give us the other two components: means and opportunity. Prove how and when Oliver Pope could have committed this murder."

"Sure thing," the attorney accepted, "Let me break it down this way: Oliver Pope knows these two are going to have a meeting—"

"That's still not proven," Lloyd protested.

Detective Fletcher was twirling a cigarette between his fingers, "Hate to burst your bubble, blondie, but I just got off the phone with that Nuache fella. Apparently the metadata on that email from the HR department... the email itself was deleted, but it points to being sent from the IP address coming from Ylisstol, and the ISP says it suggests it came from Mr. Pope's desktop."

The judge cleared his throat, "Ah, beg your pardon, but I'm a bit less familiar with this lingo than you young folk. What are these 'eyepeas' and 'icepeas' you're talking about?"

Robin blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, "Truth be told, I don't understand it all myself, Your Honor, but, in brief, an 'IP' is a number that can be used to track the source location of a device accessing the internet. The internet service provider or 'ISP' can help narrow that number down to specific subscribers to their network."

"I see," the judge stroked his beard, "so this information creates a sort of digital trail that can lead back to a person who used the internet?"

"In the hands of the right people, that's it exactly, Your Honor," Robin nodded.

"Ha! Well, my grandchild will be so impressed with me when I tell him I know all about 'eyepeas' now!" he chuckled.

 _Marks for enthusiasm, Your Honor_ , the attorney sighed to himself, "So, as I was saying, Oliver Pope knows he's started a fight between these two employees. He's also able to read that they're going to meet up at a certain time on a certain day, so he stays in his office after hours that day."

Lloyd had his eyes shut, "This is still nothing more than conjecture."

"Oliver knows it's time to make a move, so he plans to hide in the room and lie in wait for the two women," the attorney progressed.

"Objection!" Lloyd called, "That's impossible. No one went into that office after work hours other than Ms. Lorca and Ms. Monell, no matter how much you wish that weren't the case. It's on the records in black and white, there's no denying it."

"Not quite," Robin shook his head, "we know that only people with Lyn and Nephenee's IDs entered that room."

"Which," Lloyd slammed his fist on his desk, his voice becoming hoarse, "we already proved could only be Ms. Lorca and Ms. Monell."

"Objection!" Robin rejected, "You proved that only Lyn could have touched the victim's ID after it had been scrubbed for the week."

"Yes, so?"

"So... what about Lyn's ID?"

"You're not _seriously_ suggesting...?

"I am," the attorney nodded, "Ms. Lorca, would you remind the court of the testimony you gave yesterday? What happened when you met with Nephenee outside of your office?"

"Huh? Uh, I followed her in."

"Exactly, you _followed_ her in, meaning you didn't use your own ID."

"Ah...!"

"Now, Mr. Reed," Robin tapped his finger on his forehead, "would you remind the court who the first ID entered on the log around the time of the meeting was?"

Lloyd Reed grimaced, "It was... Ms. Lyndis Lorca." A wave of whispers shot through the gallery. "B-But," the prosecutor appended, "that doesn't mean that Oliver Pope used it!"

"What was it you told me?" Robin shook his head, "'Fortune doesn't smile upon you today.' Recall that the IDs of all employees were scrubbed the day of the meeting, as you posited for your suggestion about Lyn using Nephenee's ID."

"Wh-What of it?"

"I happen to have Lyn's ID here," Robin pulled out the plastic bag containing the card, "I touched it, so my fingerprints will be on it, but any other fingerprints on the ID must have been placed there that day, right?"

Lloyd growled but tacitly agreed. The judge spoke to Colm Fletcher and before long, they arranged for the item to be tested. "It's going to take a while, though," Colm advised, "so you might want to carry on."

"What more is there to say?" Robin shrugged, "If Mr. Pope touched the ID, he was able to be in the room and, thus, able to kill Nephenee and render Lyn unconscious, planting her fingerprints on the coffee mug and Nephenee's ID."

"But how do you suppose Mr. Pope might have killed Ms. Monell?" Lloyd wagged his finger, "I think you'll agree the man is pretty hard to miss, so why did Ms. Lorca not remember him at the scene?"

"I had a theory about that, too, actually," Robin nodded, "Lyn testified that she saw Nephenee lean forward and push her. Imagine if someone had been hiding behind the victim at that point: perhaps Nephenee herself was really being pushed from behind."

"Objection!" Lloyd protested, "Even if I believed her testimony, why would Ms. Lorca have lost consciousness, then? She said herself that Ms. Monell's push was not overwhelmingly strong."

"I can only imagine that, while Nephenee was indisposed, Mr. Pope moved quickly and rendered Lyn unconscious from behind," the attorney answered.

Lloyd glanced at the corpulent man before the stand, "That would be quite a feat."

"I admit it seems unlikely, but I think you'll find it's the only explanation."

"You'll recall, however, Mr. LeBlanc," the prosecutor folded his arms, "that Ms. Monell died from a contusion on the back of her head. Would you have the court assume that Mr. Pope simply beat her to death with his bare hands? That would be impossible: there would be far more damage from such a brutal assault, and DNA would likely have been extracted from Mr. Pope's hands or fingernails. We tested Mr. Pope and found no such evidence. Likewise, the victim's blood was not on any other item in the room, she could only have been murdered with the coffee mug, which had Lyn's fingerprints on it. There is no other conclusion."

"Not so fast, Mr. Reed," Robin corrected, "There was one other thing amiss with the office that hasn't gotten much play yet."

"What?!"

"Do you remember that window?"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up! It was already proven that that window couldn't have been used by any third party, it means nothing!"

"What you proved, Mr. Reed, is that no one could have _entered_ the building through that window."

"You're saying someone left? How? Why?!"

"You've been thinking inside the box for too long, Mr. Reed. I'll answer your question with another question: why didn't anyone find any trace of Nephenee's blood other than on the coffee mug and floor?"

"Because she was killed with the coffee mug, obviously!"

"No. Because the office wasn't where she was killed."

"What?! I've never heard such gibberish before!"

"Think about it: both Lyn and Eliwood were very clear that it was raining cats and dogs that night, so any blood outside would have been washed away in an instant!"

"So?! The other explanation is just as valid!"

"Objection! That's where you're wrong. Remember the bruises along Nephenee's back?"

"The detective told us they were likely the result of a shoving match with the defendant!"

"He did, but that was because he fell for Oliver Pope's ruse. Look at Ms. Lorca: do you really think a young woman of her stature could bruise a woman with a larger build simply by pushing her? And the bruises are large and all along Nephenee's back, too. In other words, not consistent in the least with a 'shoving match.' More likely, they were the result of a fall of... let's say 120 feet, perhaps?"

"What?! You're suggesting Oliver Pope threw Nephenee Monell out of a window?! That's how he killed her?!"

"Exactly."

"And why would he do something so needlessly complex?"

"To fool you into believing exactly what you've tried to prove. That's the same reason why he created the fake controversy between the defendant and the victim: he'd been plotting to kill Nephenee all along, and so he made his last work of forgery creating a patsy in the form of Lyn!"

"Preposterous! If you say that Ms. Monell was thrown out of a window and it was pouring rain, why wasn't she wet?!"

"What if Mr. Pope put her body in a receptacle to keep it dry and bring it back to the office?"

"Madness! Madness upon madness! Why would he do such a thing?!"

"Like I said, to frame Lyn."

"But surely it would have been easier to simply make it seem as though Ms. Lorca had pushed the victim out of the window...?"

"But then there would be no physical evidence inside. Suspicion could and would be cast upon anyone who was in the office at that time, and once the police learned the things I revealed about Mr. Pope's possible motive, they most certainly would have come knocking."

"Well then, let's have it," Lloyd folded his arms, "Where is this receptacle where Mr. Pope stored the body?"

"Detective Fletcher can answer that one for you. Detective, what new evidence did you find just yesterday?"

"Ah! Th-That bag!"

"Right. A bag with a strange material lining it that made it difficult to tear open."

"You tore open my bag, you savages?!" Oliver Pope raged.

Lloyd's eyes narrowed, "You tottering dunce...!"

"Thanks for admitting that, Mr. Pope," Robin smiled, "Detective, will you tell the court what was in that bag?"

"A shirt, size XXL, some pants, size 40x32, and a whole lotta blood."

"Objection! That could be anyone's blood!"

"Anyone's blood inside Mr. Pope's own bag? Still not much of an argument."

"It could even be his own."

"Objection! If we ask medical personnel, I'm sure they could tell you that losing the amount of blood found in that bag would be a lethal prospect. All the same, we can have the blood DNA tested, and I have no doubts it will match Nephenee Monell!"

"Then do it!" Lloyd growled, slamming his fist on his desk.

"Sir!" a young policeman saluted as he trotted into the room, "They finished the fingerprint analysis on the ID: matches to Lyndis Lorca, Robin LeBlanc, and Oliver Pope."

"Wh-Wh-What?!" Lloyd's jaw practically unhinged, "This... this can't be... no, this is all a bad dream..."

"I'm afraid it's all too real," Robin slammed his hands down on his desk, "Oliver Pope! Your fingerprints are on the defendant's ID, meaning you used it, presumably to enter the office prior to her meeting with the victim, as the records indicate! Once there, you opened the window and wiped your prints off of it and hid in the office! Once you were hidden, you waited for the women to enter the room, knocked both parties unconscious and then threw the victim out the open window! You left a duffel bag in the nearby alleyway so that you could carry the victim's body back up to the office while keeping it dry so that you could seal away the last of the evidence once you replaced the body! You left the victim's body in the office as planned, then smashed the coffee mug on the victim's head to create the spray of blood that would become the physical evidence, wiped the handle down, and put the defendant's fingers on it, as well as on the victim's ID! But something went wrong then, didn't it? Someone you didn't plan for had shown up to the office: Eliwood Fremont. You replaced Lyn's ID, forgetting to wipe it, and scrambled back to your office and called the police yourself, forgetting that you had also dropped the bag along the way, but it was too late to retrieve it, so you buried your head and hid in your office until Lyn was arrested! You killed Nephenee Monell because she was going to expose your whole sick operation to the world!"

The fat man shook. First with rage, then with laughter, his face growing redder and redder all the while until he looked like a plump strawberry, or an underripe plum. After several minutes of shouting and laughing and expelling every bit of his breath, he let out a long, deep sigh and spit, "You... can't pin this on me. I'm... I'm a businessman, an entrepreneur, a... a genius. I'm beautiful, I'm perfect. And you... you're so contemptibly ugly! You... you...!"

"Have I said something untrue, Mr. Pope?" Robin held his hands behind his back.

"You...! I'll crush you! I'll bury you! I'll end you the way I ended that stupid girl, too! You can't besmirch my name! You can't indict me! I'm invincible! I own everyone!" He began frothing at the mouth.

The judge banged his gavel, "That will be quite enough of that sordid display. Bailiff, please remove Mr. Pope from this courtroom."

It took over twenty minutes to silence the wave of excitement that spread through the court following those final remarks. During that time, Prosecutor Reed turned his back on his bench and walked out of the courtroom. The blood tests came back to Detective Fletcher and proved a positive match for Nephenee Monell. Lyndis Lorca wept softly behind the defense bench, and Heather Luxberg, hearing the news broadcast over the radio, dipped her head and felt a few tears roll down her cheeks as well. Robin LeBlanc spent those minutes gasping for breath, wondering where the hell he had been for the last three hours. When all was settled and the judge's voice had nearly given out from shouting and directing the bailiff, he pounded his gavel three times in rapid succession and ordered silence for the court. "If this court will come to order, it is my understanding that the jury has reached its verdict, and I will now take a moment to confer with them." The court waited in feverish silence while he did so. The gray-bearded man cleared his throat once the whispering was finished, "After conferring with the jury, in accordance with the law, this court finds Lyndis Lorca, on the charge of the first-degree murder of Nephenee Monell... Not guilty."

A few cheers and whistles rang out, photographs were taken, and in a blur, Robin was somehow ushered back out into the defense lobby.

[October 10th, 1:32 pm, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 4]

"Mr. LeBlanc!" As soon as Robin turned around, he found his wrists seized by the no-longer-manacled hands of a gleeful Lyndis Lorca. Her emerald eyes sparkled as they greeted his and she seemed to be vibrating with a pure, joyous energy as she bounded up and down, holding his wrists like one holds their own child when he has fallen.

"I take it you're pleased with my services?" the attorney smiled.

She wrapped him in a hug, "So happy. So very, very happy! I can't tell you how much I owe you!"

"You don't owe me anything, Lyn," he hazarded a friendly pat on the back, "You—well, your brother asked for a service and I rendered it, that's all."

"But my life would have been over if not for you!"

"I don't know about that!"

"Oh, you must let me take you to dinner some night!"

"That's really not necessary..."

"But it is! Oh, I'm sure daddy will give you all the lobster and steak you can ear when he learns what you did for me!"

"Well, maybe that wouldn't be bad," Robin supposed, saliva welling up in his cheeks at the mere thought of a good steak, moist and hot. He tried to restrain himself.

"Hey, kid!" Robin turned again. Colm was smoking in his direction. "Not bad," the detective said simply, "You got balls goin' up against Lloyd Reed, I'll tell ya that. Seems like ya pissed 'im off pretty good, too."

"Thanks, Detective Fletcher," Robin smiled, "I guess. Where is Prosecutor Reed?"

"He took off," the blue-haired detective looked toward the door, "Maybe he just couldn't handle it."

"Maybe," the attorney turned his attention in the same direction, half-expecting the prosecutor to appear in that very spot, "I know there were a few times I wanted to turn tail and run, too."

"Well, good thing ya didn't," Colm smirked, "Woulda deprived me o' that show. Oh, and don't worry, Pope is getting put away for a long time. I mean _long_. Fella's sweating bullets, and he should be. Even murderers and thieves don't take kindly to the sorta messed up crap he pulled."

"The thanks for that goes to Nephenee," the attorney acknowledged, "she put her life on the line to get that info out there, and she paid the price. It's only fair Oliver pays it, too."

Two more figures were entering the lobby, "Good show, Mr. LeBlanc, good show!"

"Thank you, Mr. Fremont," he grinned, "Uh, sorry about questioning you, Hector."

"Nah, it's cool, you did whatcha had to do," the young man conceded, "and you were right in the end, so what can I say? I can't believe I was working for a scumbag like Pope. I'd break that guy's gods-damn neck myself if I thought I could get away with it."

"It is a small pity we'll be out of a job, though," Eliwood sighed.

Lyn piped up, "You know, my daddy knows quite a lot of people in the business world. I could put in a good word for you guys, I'm sure he knows someone who'd appreciate the help."

"Really?" the redhead's eyes widened, "That'd be brilliant! Thank you, Lyn."

"It's no problem, I'd have been sunk without you guys," she hugged each of her co-workers, though her arms didn't fit around Hector's waist.

As the trio chattered for a few minutes between themselves, Robin felt his pocket vibrate and pulled out his phone, "Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. LeBlanc."

"Heather?"

"In the flesh."

"Are you calling from the detention center?"

"No, my boys bailed me outta that mess."

"Your 'boys?'"

"I thought I'd let you know, seeing as how you got me into that jam but also put Pope on ice."

"Know what?"

"Keep it under wraps now, you hear?"

"What?"

"Let me put it this way: investigating Oliver Pope wasn't all Nephenee's idea."

"Are you talking about corporate espionage?"

"If you asked me that question, I'd say no."

"Gotcha."

"Under wraps, got me?"

"Understood. But why tell me at all?"

"Like I said, you gave me some closure. I thought I'd do the same for you. Plus... who knows, maybe we'll see each other again. You're certainly going after the right people."

"I'm just taking what falls into my lap."

There was a laugh on the other end of the line, "All right, if you say so. Later days, Mr. LeBlanc."

"Robin is fine," he heard her hang up.

Rath Tolstoy had entered and broken up the trio, sticking protectively to his half-sister as he glared at the others with sharp, hawklike eyes. He looked at Robin, "You did some nice work, Mr. Lawyer. I'll see that you're compensated accordingly."

For some reason, the attorney felt a little boldness stirring in his chest, "Is that your money or your father's?"

The mafioso gave him a smirk, a mixed frown, "None of it's dirty, if that's what you're askin'. Just don't go causin' us problems, and we won't pay you no mind."

"Fine," he settled.

"Oh," Lyn shook her half-brother a bit, "Rath, I invited Mr. LeBlanc to dinner. We didn't decide on a date yet, but I think it'd be lovely, don't you?"

"Maybe, if you let me hang around," he smiled at her.

"Oh, Rath, you know you can't scope out my dates forever."

"I can try."

"Fine, fine, we can make it a slightly bigger party, then. Mr. LeBlanc, do you have a plus one you might want to bring along?"

Robin glanced at his phone, "I might have someone in mind."

 _Looking back on it now, I wonder if that trial wasn't where it all really started. It was my first high-profile takedown, after all. Sure, I'd gone after an assassin the previous trial, but he wasn't much more than a cog in the machine compared to Oliver. If only I'd thought to ask more questions at the time. Who messed with Eliwood's phone and how? Who was Heather working for? Later, when I learned more, I started to wonder how I had been led to catch Oliver so easily, almost as if someone was leading me there... but I didn't have time to worry about it then, and I may have even less now. I wish I had a better reason for why I let things go at the end of that trial, but I didn't. It would make me pretty upset with myself if something strange but miraculous hadn't fallen into my lap shortly thereafter..._

[Turtledove Turnabout ~ End]


	8. Turnabout of a Kind: Invest Day 1

[October 17th, 8:43 pm, Ristorante Lama Ardente]

Anna stepped out of the car and flipped her hair back over her shoulder, retrieving her purse from the seat. She looked at her "date" as he walked around the front of the car to join her before entering the restaurant and glared at him. "Something wrong?" the young attorney wondered.

"Just still thinking you should have asked me before you agreed to this in my stead."

"You mean you _don't_ want to eat here?"

"Not the point."

"Come on, I didn't tell Lyn we were together, or anything. Think of it as your boss taking you out to dinner as a way to thank you for your diligent service."

"That makes it even grosser."

"Anna, don't be difficult—"

"Difficult? Oh, I'll give you difficult...!"

Robin hurried ahead to the door, not bothering to hold it open for his plus one as he marched straight up to the maitre d', feeling more comfortable surrounded by the tuxedoed waitstaff as the redhead strode in behind him. He looked at the maitre d', who was already giving him a glazed, disapproving stare, and said, "Uh, we're with the Tolstoy party this evening."

The man cocked an eyebrow and made his curly black hair shake, "Your names?"

"Robin and Anna."

"Just a moment," he held up his index finger and then disappeared behind a partition behind the podium at the entrance.

Anna was still glaring at Robin, now with her arms folded. "Just try to relax," Robin whispered, "it's just a little dinner, and then we'll go straight back to the office."

"Just don't get too cozy with the mob girl while I'm around, huh? I plan on getting home tonight."

"I know, I know. Sheesh, what kind of guy do you think I am?"

Anna coughed.

"On second thought, don't answer that."

The maitre d' suddenly reappeared, surprising both of them, "Your table is ready, if you'd follow me, _signore_." Robin did so, with Anna close behind him. Lyn spotted the pair from across the room and waved to them excitedly. Rath looked back and, shockingly enough, seemed to be smiling, although it appeared that that smile was not directed at the approaching pair. They sat down, Robin across from Lyn and Anna opposite Rath.

"Mr. LeBlanc, you made it!" the emerald-haired girl smiled, grabbing his hand as he rested it on the table, "Oh, and who is this?"

"I'm Anna Vendise," the redhead said as Lyn stared at her, "I'm Mr. LeBlanc's financial adviser."

"Oh!" she went on grinning, "pleased to meet you, Mrs. Vendise!"

"Uh, that's 'Miss.'"

"Oh, oops. Sorry. All of daddy's financial advisers are 'missus.'"

"Er, yes, well—"

"Did you do your own hair? It's so beautiful!"

Anna blushed, "Well, I don't mean to brag, but I like to think I clean up well enough."

"Ohmigosh, you have to tell me your secret! I can't do anything about mine most of the time, it gets so wild!"

Robin watched the emerald-haired girl chatter away, amused by her enthusiasm. He looked over at Rath, who seemed to be staring at him, albeit slightly off-center. After a moment of silent eye contact, the mafioso spoke up, "Took ya long enough."

"Sorry. I had to do some filing before I left."

He took a swig of wine and Robin began to detect a slur in his voice as he responded, "Doesn't matter. Ya gotta show up on time in my world, else you'll be called disrespectful as a pair o' guys twice your size fit you for some concrete shoes, ya dig?"

"I... think so."

"Ah, whadda you care, you ain't worried 'bout the damn mob. You're just an upstart lawyer. You don't care."

Robin opened his mouth to speak, but the inebriated young man held up his finger to illustrate that he had a further point to make: "Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I heard you defended some Plegian girl, too. 'Zat right?"

"Yeah, she was a friend from back in my school days."

"So... you're Plegian?"

This line was delivered with a mystified stare and accusatory directness that made Robin consider whether or not he should answer. He decided it was best not to intensify the mafioso's suspicions: "Yes. I lived there until I started studying law."

Rath laughed and slapped his hands on the table, "Hell. Hey, no disrespect, now, but your folks are goddamn crazy, you know?"

"I'm not sure I—"

"I mean, Naga's sakes, talk about the mob all ya want, but Plegians are next-level. My dad wouldn't even want to hafta deal with any o' those dagger-totin' death-obsessed loons. Er, no offense."

"Do you really think Plegians are so dangerous?"

"Hell yeah! Don'cha watch the news? Every other day there's another attack on a Ylissean ambassador or diplomat."

"Well, both countries have been at each other's' throats for decades, at least. It's no surprise things are a little violent."

"Whatever, man. The Plegians take it way too far no matter what. I've even heard of something big starting up out that way."

"Big?"

"Yeah, man," he arched his brows, "you know, big."

Robin nodded, despite not having any clue what the remark was meant to suggest. He found himself thinking quite a bit about his old homeland recently. He had to remember to call Tharja to see how she was readjusting.

But for now, filet mignon and lobster tails were being doled out on the table, and Robin was going to appreciate the moment and apply his focus to that for a while.

[October 18th, 10:27 am, LeBlanc and Co. Law Offices]

Robin lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Or, he would be, were his phone not in the way. He tried to justify his listless internet browsing as researching potential case developments, but he never did seem to find any prospective clients in the videos and articles he clicked his way through. The thought of calling Tharja popped into his head as he sat around waiting for something else to happen, but as was often the case, somehow dialing the phone and preparing to interact was just too difficult a prospect, so he continued browsing the news site, catching a glimpse of the results of a local dance competition that was held a few days ago until he was interrupted by Anna jumping up and pushing her chair in.

"What the hell is this?!" she shouted, shoving the screen of her laptop into his face.

The attorney read the numbers, "Uh, fifty-five grand from the Lorca defense donated to a soup kitchen and a battered women's shelter."

"And do you see anything wrong with that?!"

"No...?"

"Robin! That was _all_ of the money we made from that case!"

"I know. I took the money at first, but... I don't care how clean it was, I can't hang onto mob money in good conscience. At least if it's going to help people in need, I can feel better."

Anna rubbed her hand over her face, "Look, I get what you're saying, but you have to be realistic about this, Robin: in the last six months, we've taken exactly two cases and received zero payment. If we don't get some money soon, the whole office will have to be closed."

"I know... We'll think of something..."

"That's not good enough! You _have_ to take a paying case, end of story."

"I will, I just... It would tarnish Fado's legacy if I..."

"Fado's legacy is going to be equally tarnished if his office and protégé go bankrupt."

The pair scowled at each other, but turned their heads rapidly when the door cracked open and a short girl with curly, tousled red hair strode in. "Um, excuse me?" she coughed, "I'm looking for Mr. Robin LeBlanc."

Robin hopped up from the couch to get a good look at the girl. She was wearing a navy hooded sweatshirt with a gold or tan t-shirt underneath, gray sweatpants, and a pair of sneakers with red stripes. In short, she didn't look like the type who would go out seeking a lawyer without an eminent reason. In fact, looking at the way the girl's coffee-brown eyes blithely reflected his own, it seemed that even she failed to truly understand the gravity of what she was asking. "Uh, that'd be me," the attorney stammered out.

She nodded, then frowned, "Oh, good. I need to ask you to defend me. I was arrested for murder."

"Arrested? Shouldn't you be at the detention center, then?"

"It's okay, I got special permission. My mom's a pretty important lady, so the police have to work with her."

"And who is your mother, exactly?"

The girl bit her lip, "Well, she's not exactly my mom, but she is my legal guardian, and I've known her since I was just a baby, so I call her 'mom.'"

"But what's her name? And while we're at it, what's yours?"

"Oh, right!" she tapped her forehead, "I'm Morgan. Morgan Cassidy. And my mom— I mean, my guardian's name is Eirika Verlaine."

Anna and Robin exchanged glances. "Eirika Verlaine," Robin wondered, "the daughter of Fado Verlaine?"

Morgan Cassidy looked at both of them in turn, "I think that's what mom said her dad's name was. Why?"

"I used to work for Fado," Robin explained, "and so did Anna, here. I never got the chance to meet any of Fado's children, so the fact that your mom sent you here is just... Well, it's surprising."

"So... does this mean you'll take on my defense, or...?"

"I have to ascertain some of the facts first. Of what are you being accused?"

The girl's eyes lowered to the floor as she rubbed her arm, "They arrested me for murder... they think I killed Ewan. But... but I didn't! There's no way I could've! I would never!"

"Slow down, Ms. Cassidy," Robin held his hands out, realizing that he sounded a bit like a schoolteacher trying to placate the girl, "Who's Ewan?"

"Ewan is... he was a friend of mine. One of... a couple. I don't have a whole bunch of friends, but Ewan was definitely one. He was so nice, and smart, and... what happened to him... it's not..." She trailed off, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

"Okay," Anna walked forward, "this has clearly got you pretty upset, huh kiddo? So let's do this: why don't you take Mr. LeBlanc to see your mom, and then maybe she can clear some things up for him?"

"A wise idea," Robin agreed.

"I guess that makes sense," she sniffed, "Sorry, I've just never had anything like this..."

"It's all right. Come on downstairs," the attorney walked past her and opened the door to the office, nodding at Anna as he held it open for the girl to follow behind him. As the pair exited the building, they found a squad car sitting out front with its lights flashing, a young police officer standing before it, leaning his back against the car. He sneered when he saw Morgan appear. Robin nodded to the man, urging Morgan forward, "We'd like to go speak to her mother."

"Nope," the cop spat, "I was given special orders to take her here, and that's that. She goes straight back to the detention center when she's done."

"You know this is Fado Verlaine's granddaughter, right?" Robin supplied, carefully awaiting the officer's reaction.

"Yeah, and I don't give a damn. Seems stupid to me that she even gets this much just 'cause of who her granddad was. I'm not making any more exceptions."

"But... mom..." the girl pouted.

Robin looked down at her and tacitly patted her shoulder, "Er, no worries, Morgan. Stiff upper lip. I'm sure your mom can help me nail down what's going on here."

"Mr. LeBlanc," she wasn't looking at him, "you didn't answer my question. Will you defend me?"

"I... I don't know..."

"You have to say yes or no now, and you have to promise. You can't go back on a promise. That's what mom says."

In that moment, despite the juvenile nature of her statement, Robin could swear he saw the gray eyes of his mentor staring at him from behind the milky brown of this girl's. Loath to disappoint those eyes, he felt his heartbeat quicken: "Y-Yes. I'll defend you. I promise."

"Good," she nodded, her smile causing the comparison to Fado's face disappear as the juvenile air overtook her again, "I was gonna be in a really bad spot if you said no."

"You have to help me and answer my questions if I need information, though, okay?"

"Oh, sure, I like answering questions! I can tell you anything you need to know!"

 _That was quite the mood swing_ , Robin noted internally, "Just be good, okay? I'll come visit you soon, and I'm sure your mom will do the same."

"'Be good,'" she chuckled, mocking him, "I'm not an eight-year-old, Mr. LeBlanc."

He believed it, but he also believed she wasn't that far off from eight, given how her mood and behavior seemed to change at the drop of a hat. Had he promised to defend someone unstable? The thought made his stomach tense as he watched her, the apparent similarity to Fado having disappeared as she was loaded into the car. Then again, Robin also felt a stirring seeing such a young girl being put in the back of this car. It seemed surreal. He heard the cop shift the car into gear and begin turning out of the lot. When the tires crunched over the gravel near the end of the building's entrance, Robin snapped back into reality, remembering that he would have to pay a visit to Fado's daughter and figure out what she was doing taking care of this girl and what the girl's situation was. Continued thoughts of his mentor made the attorney's mind feel foggy as he went back upstairs to find an address for Eirika Verlaine, and with another quick salute to Anna, he left the office.

[October 18th, 11:18 am, Verlaine Home for Children]

Robin entered the door and glanced at the paper streamers and crayon drawings lining the walls. No sooner had he gotten two feet in the door than did he hear footsteps racing forward to meet him. He halted in place and was struck for a moment by what he had to confess was an intimidating face: A woman with aqua hair and somewhat sharp blue eyes was looking back at him, a toddler in baggy beige shorts wrestling against her grip. She wore a red t-shirt with yellow sleeves—Robin thought maybe it was a certain team's colors—and blue jeans and she was tapping her foot while glaring at him, "Ever heard of a doorbell, mack?"

"Sorry," he felt his face get hot, "it's just that the door was open, and—"

"And so you decided you'd just let yourself in? I dunno how it works where you're from, buddy, but around here you can't just go barging into people's houses."

"Pardon," he tried unsuccessfully to hide his blushing, "this is going all wrong. Are you Eirika Verlaine?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him, "Who's asking?"

Finally with an out, the attorney reached into his pocket and fished out his credentials, presenting them rather forcefully toward her face, "Robin LeBlanc. I used to work for your father."

"Oh!" her eyes widened and she released her grip on the toddler as her hand came up to her face, "No kidding? I know the name. Wait... if you're here... does that mean...?"

"A girl came by the office asking for me, said her name was Morgan Cassidy. She wanted me to defend her."

"So it is you!" her eyes tightened closed as her mouth formed a big smile, "You're the attorney that used to assist daddy! It's so good to finally meet you!"

"Er, likewise," he scratched the back of his head. _Maybe this is where Morgan got it from..._

"Sorry," she began busily combing her hair with her fingers, "I didn't prepare to meet you at all because I wasn't sure what you were going to say or if you'd come her or... ugh, I look like a total mess."

"It's fine, really."

"And I didn't mean to be rude to you, it's just, you know, I have to watch over the kids and—"

"Yes, about that... Do you have a lot of children?"

She laughed, "You could say that. They're not exactly _my_ children, though, if that's what you mean. I run an orphanage."

"Ah," Robin smiled, "that would explain it. So Morgan was one of the children in your care?"

"You got it," she nodded, "She's such a little sweetie, that one. She used to follow me around the house like a lost puppy, and she'd always want me to read to her when it was raining because she couldn't go out and play... ah, memories."

"Um, but she's been charged with murder, is that right?"

Eirika nodded, "But I don't believe it for a second. Morgan's a great kid. She had fantastic grades from first grade to senior year."

"Senior year? Of high school?"

"Yep, she graduated in June with a 3.87. Isn't that great? And living in this busy old place... she's smart and a hard worker. She'll go far! ...Well, assuming she gets out of this mess."

Robin was still hung up on the fact that the girl had already graduated high school. She looked fourteen at the very oldest. He recovered from that shock and tried to continue, "Uh, right. So, I heard the name Ewan pop up... she said he was a friend?"

The aqua-haired woman's eyes fixed on him and became more serious, "That's right. Ewan Allen was the name of the poor little boy who was killed. There's no way it was Morgan, though. That girl wouldn't hurt a fly, and what's more, Ewan was a good friend of hers. One of her little circle of classmates."

"She mentioned that, too," Robin recalled, "can you tell me more about this circle of friends she had?"

"Oh, sure!" she smiled again, "They're all good kids, too. Ewan was going on to university, to learn about chemical engineering, or something... He helped Morgan in a chemistry class during her sophomore year, so he was the most recent addition. There's also Ross Hammond, who she's known since kindergarten—a bit thick, that one, but he's handy, Cath Nichols she met in an art class she took in middle school—oh, the two of them used to wear their hair and dress the same like they were sisters, ha ha! Then there was Nino Cooper, another smart girl, she and Morgan competed in a lot of quiz bowls and that sort of thing... Oh, and Inigo Morales, of course! She met him back in middle school, too. It was actually at one of his dance competitions that Ewan was killed. Don't tell her I said this, but I always suspected Morgan had a little crush on him."

Robin was furiously making mental notes, having forgotten to actually have a notebook present, "I see. That's all very interesting. Could you tell me where that dance competition was held? I'd like to get a look at the scene."

She did so, then added, "You might want to see if you can talk to some of those kids, too. They'll know more about what happened that night than I ever would. Morgan knows their addresses, but I'm not so sure..."

"That's fine. You've already been a big help, Ms. Verlaine."

"Hey, no trouble. I was hoping I could count on you, being a friend of dad's and all. Maybe when this all blows over, we can sit down and chat about him. I'd love to know what it was like working under him."

"Certainly. But first, I should probably check on Morgan in the detention center. I'm sure she'll have some things to say about the night of the crime.

"Right, right. Don't let me slow you down—I gotta get back to these crazy kids, anyway. Thanks for stopping by! Oh, and for helping little Morgie!"

"Sure thing," he answered, although Eirika Verlaine had already disappeared. He heard her suggest through the wall a game of hide and seek which was met with a loud round of cheers. The attorney smiled to himself and headed out toward his car.

[October 18th, 12:22 pm, Detention Center]

Robin entered the building and only had to sign in momentarily with the secretary, who seemed to recognize him upon entry. He wasn't sure if that was something of which he should feel proud. He passed the desk and grabbed a seat in front of the plexiglass that separated him from Morgan Cassidy, whose head was halfway buried in her collar. She looked up when Robin sat down, but her expression remained neutral, her cheeks pouting and her lips forming a very straight line. "Hi again, Morgan," the attorney saluted, "I assume you haven't been waiting too long."

"No," she agreed, tapping her fingers on the small counter space in front of her.

"Can I ask you some questions about what happened?"

"If you have to."

"Are you upset with me... or someone else, Morgan?"

"No, why?"

"You seemed a bit cheerier when we first met."

"Sorry, I just... I feel a little down... I'm sure you can imagine."

"You're right, I shouldn't pry. All the same, I have to ask you about some things, is that okay?"

She nodded, her small brown eyes seeming to find it difficult to concentrate on those of her attorney.

"So," Robin LeBlanc began, "let's start with the basics: where were you when the murder happened?"

"I was at one of Inigo's dance competitions... Er, Inigo is the name of one of my friends."

"Okay, and what were you doing there? Were you with anyone?"

"Yeah, all of my other friends were there, too. It was a lot of fun, we hung out in the audience and cheered for Inigo's group when they hit the stage. He did a great job—you shoulda seen this one move he has where he does a big backflip and then spins forward and points out his arm like a fencer, he calls it the Exalted Gateway! It was such a fun night, and Nino had us all make casts of our hands the week before that she showed off, mounted in her room. I'd never felt so close to my friends before."

"That sounds nice, Morgan, but can we stick to what you were doing?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Well, there wasn't much happening besides groups coming to the stage and performing... Lots of people went to get drinks and snacks when the next group was getting set up. Oh, right! I went to the bathroom during one of those breaks, and then... it happened."

"I see. But shouldn't that give you an alibi? Didn't you tell your friends you were going to the bathroom?"

She rubbed her arm, "Well, that's sort of the problem... Ewan... he was murdered in the boys' bathroom."

 _So it gave her exactly the opposite of an alibi. Great._ Robin shook his head, "Um, was there anyone else in the bathroom at that time? Someone who might remember seeing you there?"

Her cheeks grew red and she scratched her arm a bit more vigorously, "I... uh, I couldn't actually find the bathroom until... after. I was walking all around, but I couldn't spot the sign because of the crowd."

"Hm," Robin frowned, "that's no good. Did any of your friends see you wandering around, maybe?"

She shook her head miserably, "I don't think so. The crowd was so big... Nobody saw, and nobody believes me..."

"Try to calm down, Morgan. I... I believe you," the attorney told himself.

"Do you mean that?" her eyes finally managed to lock onto his.

"Yes. I believe you didn't do it," he nodded, deepening his voice to give the impression of confidence.

"Thank you," her head bowed, and then she smiled ever so slightly, "Um, I don't think there's anything more I can tell you."

"I think there is one more thing," Robin returned, "do you know if there was anyone there who disliked Ewan? Somebody who might be his enemy?"

"Enemy?" she scoffed at the word, "No, not that I'm aware of. Ewan was super nice, maybe even a little bit of a pushover, honestly. There are people who may not have hung out with him, but I don't think he's… he was really the type to have 'enemies.'"

"All right," Robin sat back, "I guess that's all I have, then. Are you going to be okay if I leave?"

"Yeah," she murmured, "it's fine. Mom's gonna come see me soon. She promised she would."

"Okay," he nodded and gave her a smile, "Thank you, Morgan. Take care of yourself, okay?"

She answered in the affirmative as he attorney headed out.

[October 18th, 1:08 pm, Les Chevaliers Night Club]

Robin stepped out of his car and glanced at the façade of the building again. You'd never know the place was a nightclub if not for the small neon sign that was flashing fuchsia every now and again announcing drink specials and events. The scroll hadn't changed since the night of the crime, apparently, because "City-Wide Dance Contest!" was still proudly being announced alongside Happy Hour and forty-cent wings. Otherwise, the building was unremarkable: cream colored, except for orange-red roofing and a similarly-colored door. Even the windows were dark or blocked, making the whole place look a bit suspicious, if not simply run-down, especially in the middle of the day. Robin could even see trash bags lain carelessly around the front of the building, as if someone had set them out there but was too lazy to ensure that they reached the dumpster mere feet away. With a heavy sigh, the attorney entered the club.

The inside was a bit more respectable, although it was terribly dark. Fuchsia and magenta were the dominating colors, reinforced by the dark curtains of the club and smoky lights that barely illuminated anything other than the stage, which occupied about a third of the space in the building. In addition to looking dark, the place was eerily quiet in the absence of any customers. Some glassware sat out on tables, and the chairs nearby were still facing the stage, like everyone had suddenly gotten up and disappeared. To some extent, that was the truth.

"I'm done with you!" Robin turned his head in time enough to see a certain cobalt-haired detective storm out of an office toward the back of the building. With him trotted a girl who seemed to be resisting. Her hair seemed to match the color of the curtains behind them.

"But Detective Fletcher!" the girl protested, "We still have so many questions we could ask! What if he's the one who—"

"Part o' bein' a good detective is knowin' when to let go, rookie. That's the name of the game. Trust me, that guy's a dry well."

"B-But... I thought..." The girl's lips began to wobble and she sobbed, "I thought I was doing such a good joooooob! Waaaaaaah!"

Detective Fletcher seemed to immediately regret his words, patting her shoulders delicately, "Aw, c'mon, take it easy, girly! You were doin' great, it's just that the guy's useless. Sheesh, how're you gonna make it as a detective when you break down so easy?"

"I... I..." she sniveled, seeming on the verge of another outburst.

"Detective?" Robin dared to approach.

Colm Fletcher turned to him, "Heh, if it ain't you again. You followin' me, lawyer? I know I'm pretty good lookin', but you're barkin' up the wrong tree."

"I'm here on behalf of the defendant again."

"How'd I guess?"

"I can get an affidavit if you—"

"Nah, forgeddit. I got my hands full as it is. I don't expect you to be any trouble."

"Who's your friend?"

The girl leapt out from the detective's grasp. "Neimi Watts," she beamed, "Junior Detective!" The girl flashed a badge at him, but Robin didn't take a close look at her credentials.

"I'm training her," the senior detective explained, "Which is proving to be a lot trickier than I'd imagined. Ms. Watts is kinda prone to being... overly emotional."

"And overcoming that flaw is a part of my training!" she insisted, "Go on, tell me the saddest thing you can imagine, and I won't cry a single tear! Even if it's _really_ sad, like a sick kitten, or something!"

Robin opened his mouth to speak, but the girl was already starting to sniffle and murmuring the words "sick kitten" repeatedly.

Detective Fletcher massaged his forehead, "Anyway, why don't you go take a look around. Just don't mess anything up. I'm gonna be... a little busy today."

"Evidently," Robin was still looking curiously at the crying girl, "Well, good luck, detective."

"I gotta sneakin' suspicion luck ain't gonna be enough," Colm Fletcher muttered as he walked Neimi out of the building.

Robin watched them leave, then glanced around the room a bit. He couldn't see anything on the stage, so he wandered over to the restrooms. He found that the men's was wrapped in some police tape and that the door was firmly locked. He sighed, thinking the trip was wasted, but quickly remembered the office the detective had exited. With no other options, the attorney entered the corner office and found a surprisingly young-looking gentleman with olive-green hair sitting at a desk inside.

The man looked up from staring disinterestedly at his computer and smiled at his guest, "Hello, hello! How do you do? Terribly sorry, but due to an unfortunate incident, Club Les Chevaliers is not open to the public at this time."

"Oh," Robin paused, "Sorry, I wasn't sure if anyone was in here. I'm actually an attorney for the defendant in that 'incident.' I was just having a look around."

"Ah!" the man sprang to his feet so that Robin could see he was wearing a garish green tuxedo with gold trim, "In that case, I can give you the tour, just like a did for the detective and his lovely little assistant!"

"A tour isn't really necessary, thanks," Robin shook his head, "I just wanted to see if I could get into the bathroom."

"Restrooms are for paying customers only," the man smiled.

"I meant so that I could investigate the scene of the murder."

"Right," the green-haired man frowned, "That would be the more logical thing, wouldn't it... Sorry, my mind is going a million miles a minute lately."

"Understandable," Robin nodded.

"Come with me, I'll get the door for you," the man said, walking past the attorney toward the restrooms.

"Do you work here?" the attorney wondered as they walked.

"I most certainly do. I own this little joint." He spun around and offered his hand, "Sain Cheval, at your service!"

Robin took it tacitly, "Uh, thanks. So, can I safely assume that you were at the club on the night the murder occurred?"

"Yes indeedy," he replied, "I was watching the night from my office—it's a great view, seeing the stage lit up with everyone performing and all the people down below having fun. Just what I love to see, you know?"

"Sure. Did you see anyone moving around the bathroom at the time of the murder, or otherwise acting strangely that night?"

"Ha! Well, I saw a great many gents go to the bathroom, but I hardly think that counts for much. At any rate, I'm not supposed to say anything about what I saw. That's what the prosecutor told me."

"Prosecutor?"

"Yes, Mr… Lead, I think it was. Roy Lead?"

"Do you mean Lloyd Reed?"

"That's the one!"

 _Oh, good_ , thought Robin, _Lloyd's already been chatting with everyone here. That can only make my job harder_. At this point, the pair reached the men's room, which Sain opened and gave a sweeping gesture to welcome Robin. The attorney walked in and looked all around for any leads. The room was small, roughly a third of the size of the main room he had just been in. There were four stalls and three urinals against the wall, as well as three sinks each beneath a wall-size mirror that was high enough to show only the head and shoulders of most guests. The room was also significantly less flashy than the rest of the club: white walls, gray tile, white ceiling, and several flickering fluorescent lights that cast an unpleasant, industrial type of light. Before long, Robin's attention was attracted by some orangish-red stains lining the floor near one of the sinks. There were some accompanying stains in the sink itself, though their color was slightly brighter. Robin's nose curled when he spotted the blood and he uneasily drew closer. "I take it this is the victim's?" he said, looming over the faded-looking drops.

"That's what the coppers seemed to believe," Sain nodded, "I hate having to leave my floor dirty like that, but that's what they said to do…"

Robin ignored him and kept looking, spotting a knife whose handle and blade were both soaked in blood and sitting not far from the pool he had been looking at previously, "This knife… Must be the murder weapon, it's coated in blood. Looks like a steak knife, something you'd find in a kitchen, doesn't it?"

"Ah," Sain fawned, "You're asking me? Hm, well, I can't say I'm much of a detective, but I'd have to agree."

"Does Les Chevaliers have a kitchen, Mr. Cheval?" asked the attorney.

"Indeed we do," he nodded, then paused, "Er, but before you go throwing accusations around, we went over this with the police and double-checked our inventory: the knife isn't one of ours. All of our knives are in their proper place."

Robin cocked an eyebrow, "Who's 'we?'"

As if in reply to his question, the bathroom door swung open, and a man with red hair and a stern face stepped in, "Sain, what are you doing in here? We have an owners' meeting right now."

"Ah, right!" the green-haired man jumped up, "Mr. Attorney, allow me to introduce you to Kent Clarke, my business partner and the co-owner of Club Les Chevaliers. Kent, this is… er, say, what was your name, anyway?"

"Robin LeBlanc, attorney at law," Robin offered his hand to the redheaded man.

He was ignored, "Come on, Sain. And you, you need to leave. We can't risk you messing around with evidence in the absence of the police.

Robin was prepared to protest, but it seemed obvious by the look in the man's eyes that he would not be swayed. In any case, Robin had other inquiries to make, and he was sure that he would be hearing all about the crime scene during the trial thanks to Lloyd's meddling. He relented, leaving the bathroom, but paused a moment to take notice of something large and made of fabric sticking out of one of the trash cans. It seemed to be a shirt, or something similar, but Robin was dragged out of the establishment before he could get a closer look.

As he smoothed out his suit jacket, throwing Kent Clarke a spiteful look, Robin turned to look toward the sun, whereupon a blue-haired man greeted him with a big smile. "Ha! Looks like my timing is impeccable!"

"Sorry," Robin rubbed his eyes as they readjusted to the daylight, "Who are you?"

"My name is Inigo Morales," he grinned, "you might have heard about me from some local news media… I'm quite popular, it seems."

"Doesn't ring a bell," Robin shrugged.

Inigo's face fell, "Ah! Alas… Well, all the same, I'm here not to introduce myself, but to speak to you, who I assume are the attorney Mr. Robin LeBlanc?"

"That's right. What's this about?"

"I'm a friend of the dear Ms. Morgan Cassidy, your client! Incidentally, I was also getting ready to perform last night when tragedy befell our mutual friend Ewan."

"Oh, now that you mention it, that does sound familiar. Why are you looking for me?"

"Isn't it obvious? Ms. Verlaine told me you might be in need of my assistance. Go on, is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

"Oh, um, sure! Did you happen to see Morgan go to the bathroom at any point during the evening?"

"I'm afraid not. The police already asked me about that one, and I told them the same thing. I was still getting ready backstage when it happened, you see, so I didn't realize anything had happened until the commotion was long over."

"Were any of your other friends in attendance at the competition?"

"Oh, sure, they all were! Well, all of my close friends, anyway. There was Morgan, Ewan, Ross, Nino, and Cath. They all stood out there cheering me on the whole evening. I could scarcely ask for better friends."

"Were any of them behaving strangely that night?"

"Not that I can recall, no. Nino was a little depressed, but then so was Ross, and Morgan too, to some extent… Everyone was trying to make each other feel a little better. This was to be our last big outing as friends, you see, given that we all just graduated."

"Do you know of anyone who would've wanted Ewan dead?"

"Goodness no! Ewan was a very meek kid. In that regard, we might be more alike than I care to admit… Ahem, in any case, he didn't really fight or argue with anyone. Although, come to think of it, I do remember an incident about rumors not too long ago where Ewan ended up getting punched."

 _Now we're getting somewhere!_ thought Robin. "Can you tell me anything more about that?"

"Not really, I'm afraid," Inigo sighed, "Ewan said someone had been spreading ill rumors about him, then the next time I saw him, his nose was a bit bent, and he told me that he had been hit, but that everything had been worked out. He seemed a little upset talking about it, so I didn't pry."

"I see," Robin deflated. _And there it goes._ "How long ago was that?"

"About a week, I think."

"Do you remember anything else out of the ordinary leading up to that night?"

"Well, to be honest, I know this sounds bad, but… Well, Morgan had been getting a little more reclusive in the nights prior to the competition. She seemed resentful, like she didn't want to talk to any of us. She seemed perfectly happy the night of the event, though."

"That's good to know. Thanks, Inigo," the attorney nodded.

"Not at all, Mr. LeBlanc!" he beamed, "Er, but do me a favor? Get poor Morgan declared not guilty, all right? She's done nothing wrong, I'm sure of it. Besides, it would be a shame to never see her radiant smile again."

"I'll do my best," the attorney replied.

"That's all I can ask," the dancer grinned as he took off.

"Oh, just a moment, Inigo!" Robin called after him. He turned around to look back at the attorney. "Would around to look back at the attorney. "Would you mind giving me the numbers of those other friends you mentioned?"

"Certainly!" he smiled and brought out his phone so that Robin could copy all of the numbers.

When Robin finished collecting them, he thanked Inigo once more and jumped into his car.

[October 18th, 3:42 pm, LeBlanc and Co. Law Offices]

Robin busily dusted a few countertops and paused every few seconds to take a peek out the window. When, inevitably, he saw nothing, he would go back to putting books away and tossing little bits of litter he found scattered about into the trash cans.

Anna observed this behavior with little more than a cocked eyebrow for some time, but she eventually piped up, "Expecting someone?"

"A couple of someones, actually," he replied, "friends of our client. I asked them if I could meet them all at once, to shorten things up. They're due here any minute."

"We're definitely getting paid for this case, right?" Robin mumbled something. Anna rolled her eyes and went back to work, "First time I've seen him clean this damn place in ages…"

Suddenly, the sound of an engine came from outside as a car rolled up to the lot around the building. Robin seated himself on a chair near the end of the office couch as he waited in a few minutes of suspenseful silence while the arriving group ascended to their floor. One of them knocked on the office door. "Come in!" Robin shouted.

The group did so. They were a mismatched bunch, with the only governing rule about them seeming to be that they were quite short. There were two girls and a boy: the boy had black, short, spiked hair and big bluish eyes accompanied by a wide smile and an optimistic pleasantness. He wore overalls that drew up over a brown shirt that was stained with paint, dust, and grease, among other undefinable substances. One of the girls had grass-green hair and similar eyes. She wore a purple hoodie that was a bit like Morgan's, but looked older. Her hair was mostly neat, held in place by a purple bow to complement her dark-colored attire, which also included black pants and shoes. The other girl had scarlet red hair and a crooked sort of smile that suggested she was immediately sizing up everyone in the room. She seemed to take particular note of Anna, but then returned her concentration to the attorney. She sported a very simple outfit: a tan t-shirt, with a green long-sleeve shirt tied around her waist and a pair of old-looking jeans. Robin thanked them all for coming and offered them a seat before asking their names. The boy was Ross Hammond, the green-haired girl was Nino Cooper, and the redhead was Cath Nichols.

Robin began to repeat the litany of questions he had posed to Inigo: no, none of them had seen Morgan go to use the bathroom, and no, none of them remembered her acting oddly that night. He continued, "Inigo told me that was supposed to be your last night together as friends, right? Where were you all going after that night?"

"Well," Ross rubbed his nose, "I was off to trade school so I could learn to work in my dad's shop! He's a carpenter, and the best around, y'see."

"I… I'm not really sure," Nino admitted, "I was thinking about going to college, but I'm not sure. Circumstances might make it difficult."

"I was gonna do some travelling," said Cath, interlocking her fingers, "My parents were willing to send me out of the country to become a little more… worldly. I figured it could be fun and help me figure out what I'm going to do with my life."

"Did any of you hear about someone spreading rumors about Ewan?" Robin asked. The trio looked at each other and shook their heads collectively: they hadn't.

"I do remember Morgan being upset about something, though," Cath added.

"Any idea what it was?" the attorney pressed.

"Not really. She just seemed a little bummed, maybe more like disappointed. I couldn't say why, though."

"You don't recall anything more like that, any of you?" They denied it again. "Did you know of anyone who might have wanted to see Ewan hurt?" Their answers were similar to the ones Robin had gotten before: no, Ewan was very kind, and they had no idea who would have had any desire to harm him. Robin sighed and asked a few more questions, but the interrogation was ultimately fruitless, and he sent the friends on their way.

The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting a softer amber glow on the land below. Anna looked over to the attorney, "Get what you needed?"

"I see why the police weren't too concerned about keeping those kids on hand as witnesses. I guess I'll just have to try to piece together whatever I can at trial time, like usual."

"On track for another all-nighter, then?"

"Seems that way?"

"Well, it's almost five. Why don't I run out and get some takeout? You can have some throughout the night."

"What about you?"

"I'll take what I need and clear out when quitting time comes around."

Robin LeBlanc smiled and pulled out one of his notebooks, as well as a pen, "Thanks, Anna."

[Turnabout of a Kind ~ Investigation Day 1 – End]


	9. Turnabout of a Kind: Day 1 Trial Former

[October 19th, 8:43 am, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 4]

Robin LeBlanc was reexamining his notes carefully as he heard footfalls behind him. He was no more prepared for this trial than any of his previous cases, but the question this time was even more complicated, so to say he was feeling pressured by the circumstances would be a significant understatement. He had his head so firmly engrossed in reevaluations of the curt statements given by Morgan's friends that he didn't hear the girl herself approach and sit down in front of him. He was still considering Inigo's mention of the rumors surrounding Ewan when Eirika Verlaine joined her adopted daughter.

"Mr. LeBlanc," she said in a shrill, striking sort of way to grab his attention.

The attorney's head rose snappily, "Huh?! Oh, Ms. Verlaine… and Morgan. Good to see you both."

Eirika's expression told him the feeling was not mutual. "How are things looking? Regarding the trial, I mean," she asked.

"It's early," Robin replied, trying to throw her off.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Eirika frowned.

Robin broadened his shoulders and squared himself before her, extending his arm to suggest the confidence he knew his words were sorely lacking, "It means it's hard to know anything before the trial has even started. I have all the information I need, but I can't be confident about anything that will happen in the courtroom until things start moving."

"I guess that makes sense," the young woman's aqua hair drooped in front of her face as she bowed her head, looking at her legs.

"I'm not worried." Robin had failed to notice, but now he saw that Morgan's eyes were starry, beaming back at him like she was meeting her favorite actor face-to-face. "One of the guards let me watch the tapes of Mr. LeBlanc's last two trials," she explained, "They were amazing! The way Mr. LeBlanc takes all of that stuff and turns it all on its head, and all the shocked faces in the courtroom—wow! It was like a real-life courtroom drama!"

Robin smiled, but Eirika remained unimpressed, "Well, we don't need any drama today, we just need a 'not guilty' verdict asap."

"But it was cool," Morgan continued.

"I appreciate you saying so, Morgan," Robin sighed, "but your mom's right: the best thing we can do is get this over with and get you acquitted quickly."

"You're going to find out who did it, too, aren't you?" the little girl asked.

"That's not necessarily in my job description," he rubbed the back of his neck.

"But you always do!" she protested, pouting, "You have to find out who really hurt Ewan! Someone deserves to answer for that crime, and you have to figure out who, or… or… I'll never forgive you!"

 _For someone so young, she sure is demanding. Not to mention, her expectations are a little high_. Robin sighed and shrugged at her, "I can't make promises about that sort of thing, Morgan, but I can promise that I'll do my best to get this whole mess figured out."

"Oh, and don't be mean to my friends."

"Your friends?"

"Yeah, the police officer who brought me in here said they all might end up as witnesses, so I wanted to tell you not to be mean to them, like you were to that one guy… uh, the fat one. Please don't do that to any of my friends."

"I'll try, but I might have to be a little mean to them in order to make sure they're telling the whole truth, so that you get declared innocent, you know?"

"I guess… Please at least take it easy?"

"I can do that."

"Thank you, Mr. LeBlanc."

"No problem. By the way, Morgan, this'll probably be our last chance to talk privately before the trial, so, I wanted to ask, is there anything more you want to tell me or that you think might be important?"

She pressed her index finger to her cheek and cocked her head to the side, "Um, I don't think so."

"You don't have any idea why they might think you wanted to kill Ewan?" the attorney wondered.

Morgan's lips parted to speak, but she lowered her head and closed them, "No. Everything was… fine. There was no reason for it to be a problem."

"For what to be a problem?"

"Ah. Um, my relationship with Ewan, I mean. We were friends, on good terms and all, you know."

"I see."

They heard the footsteps of a police officer approaching, who extended a hand clutching a pair of handcuffs to Morgan, "Sorry, but the trial will be starting soon. We need to process the defendant."

Robin LeBlanc nodded and watched as the girl's hands were held together and slapped into the handcuffs before being led off. He couldn't help but frown as he watched her eyes glimmer, reflecting the overhead lights, before being walked out of the room. The attorney faced Eirika Verlaine, who was looking similarly distressed, pursing her lips at the disappearing back of the girl. "It's a terrible shame what they're doing to her," Eirika sighed, "The kind of thing dad would've never stood for."

"True enough," Robin agreed, "Fado wouldn't let anyone be in that bad of shape before sitting through a trial. I wish I knew how he consoled them…"

"Not just that," the aqua-haired woman noted, "they're making the poor girl sit trial in front of all her friends. I mean, they may not all be called as witnesses, but every one of them made a statement. Do you think they'll always look at her differently after this, knowing that they all spoke against her in some way, thinking she might've killed one of their mutual friends?"

Robin blinked a few times, feeling a distinct unsettled shake in the pit of his stomach. He decided he'd rather not answer the question.

It didn't matter, because Eirika elected to change the subject anyway, "So, you worked with my dad… what would he do at this stage of the game?"

Robin took a moment to imagine Fado Verlaine strutting into the courthouse, his square brow locking his eyes into sharp determination, the flow of the loose corners of his olive suit and the subtle professionalism that oozed out of every fiber of his wide wine-colored tie. In those days, Robin would look up at him with his sharp jaw enclosed by the softness of his beard, and within moments, Fado would begin to explain their strategy. Fado's approach was ever that of rationality: it was important, he had noted, to bear in mind the exact letters of the law, and to never jump onto a line of questioning just because it looked convenient. There had to be a particular meaning behind every word a person said, Robin remembered him explaining; when you know _why_ a person has said something, only then can you begin to understand what they've really said. Robin had responded that that sounded backward, and that it was impossible to know what motivated someone to say something before they said it. Fado let out a booming laugh and slapped his student on the back, agreeing, but saying he'd meant his advice metaphorically, as a way to think about what had been said, rather than simply taking words at face value. To this day, Robin was having trouble putting the lesson into practice.

He returned to the present moment as Eirika was snapping her fingers at him, "Hello? Worried client wondering what you're planning to do, here."

"S-Sorry," he stammered, shaking his head, "Uh, well, since this is the first trial, the best thing we can do to start is learn all we can about the investigation. Once we figure that out, we can start to throw their theories back at them with any contradicting evidence we find."

"And then what?" she arched her eyebrows expectantly.

Robin looked to each side, "Er, that's it. That's as much as I can plan for now."

Eirika's eyebrows remained in the same position, but before she could remark upon anything, the bailiff called to them, "The trial is about to begin. Will Mr. LeBlanc please enter?"

Robin picked up his things and gave a quick nod to Eirika, who gave him a reciprocally lukewarm gesture, and the attorney entered the courtroom.

[October 19th, 9:02 am, District Court-Courtroom No. 4]

Stirrings and murmurs in the court came to a halt as the judge rapped his gavel a few times and called for order. All eyes turned forward to face the gray-bearded man as he cleared his throat. "Thank you," he said, "this court will now come to order for the trial of Ms. Morgan Cassidy. Bailiff, would you please bring the defendant to the stand?"

The bailiff complied and took the handcuffed girl by the arm up to the witness stand. The judge looked at her from across his desk and put on a pair of small glasses that sat near the end of his nose. "It pains me to see one so young accused of so heinous a crime," he said.

"Truly a despairing fact, Your Honor," a deep voice cut across the courtroom, "the culture of this nation's youth is a sad sight to behold at times. Far have we strayed from the glorious days of our heritage, when our world was held together by pillars of polite society like King Marth."

Robin grimaced as he saw Lloyd Reed standing across from him, eyes shut and arms folded.

"Truer words were scarcely ever said," concurred the judge.

"In the vein of despairing youths," the prosecutor continued, "Mr. LeBlanc, I'm surprised to see you again so soon. It seems the rank of villainy never wafts far from your nose."

"O-Objection!" Robin shouted, "I ask the prosecution to refrain from making personal attacks regarding my nose and the sort of wafts it experiences."

"Noted, Mr. LeBlanc," said the judge, "Mr. Reed, I assume your presence here today means you have a concise opening statement prepared for the court."

"Indeed," Lloyd Reed bowed his head just slightly, "Ladies and gentlemen of the court, you look upon a young lady who is charged with two great crimes, one belying the other: this young woman, Morgan Cassidy, stands accused of murder, the deprivation of a similarly-aged boy of his very life. What's more, however, is that this Ms. Cassidy has sunken so low as to murder not any man, not someone who wronged her ages ago and upon whom she swore vengeance, but upon one of her own friends. Yes, a young man who thought he could confide in and be comfortable around the young lady you now look upon, that is who she chose to kill. The prosecution hopes that the defendant is aware that it is said that traitors are banished to the lowest circle of hell."

Morgan's face squeezed, her cheeks and eyes going tense.

"Objection!" Robin shouted, "Y-Your Honor, surely it's out of line for the prosecution to threaten the defendant in their opening statement…?"

"Oh, do be quiet," Lloyd growled, "forgive me if the prose of my argument was a bit… colorful, but these are the things a proper advocate of the law must be prepared to do in order to get the jury into the proper mindset, Mr. LeBlanc. Now, if you're done whining, I'd like to bring Detective Fletcher to the stand to explain the results of the prosecution's investigation."

The judge nodded, "That seems reasonable, unless you had any other objections, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Not at this time, Your Honor," Robin's head sank.

"Very well," the judge banged his gavel, "Detective Fletcher, would you please present yourself?"

In a few moments, the detective stood before them. "Howdy," he waved to Robin before acknowledging Lloyd.

"Detective, we already know your name and profession, so why don't we just skip to the interesting bit: Tell us, what did the police find that conclusively evinces the fact that Morgan Cassidy is the murderer of Ewan Allen?"

The detective ran his hands through his hair and sighed, "Okay, so it's like this: Morgan Cassidy and Ewan Allen both entered the nightclub 'Club Les Chevaliers' on the night of October 17th to attend a performance by their mutual friend, Inigo Morales, and the rest of his dance troupe. During a break in the competition, right around 10 pm, Ewan Allen went to use the restroom. He never left it. According to the statements of Morgan Cassidy and her other friends who also attended the performance with her, Ms. Cassidy also left to use the bathroom not long after. It took about thirty minutes for the body to be discovered, and Ms. Cassidy was found near the entrance when a crowd started to gather. The police suspect Ms. Cassidy on the basis of considerable physical evidence, in addition to her suspicious timing: Ms. Cassidy had the victim's blood dried into spots on the front of her clothing, and there was a jacket found in the trash near the restroom that sported similar bloodstains, as well as a photograph of Ms. Cassidy's entire circle of friends. There were also some reddish-orange stains in the sink that may have come from the victim or the killer—we're still analyzing those. Anywho, the wound is a thin slice in the front of the victim's neck, suggesting that he may have been taken by surprise from behind, which would be a likely tactic for someone of smaller stature, like Ms. Cassidy."

"Thank you, detective," Lloyd Reed still had his arms folded.

"Mr. LeBlanc, your cross-examination?" offered the judge.

"I have a few more specific questions about your investigation, detective."

"Shoot."

"What weapon did the defendant allegedly use to commit the murder?"

"Ah, right. It was a small kitchen knife. Not much special about it, but it did have the defendant's fingerprints on the handle, and it was practically doused in the victim's blood."

"Doused? But that's odd. I thought you said the wound was just a small cut."

"Along the jugular, yeah. You have any idea how much blood can spill out when you cut someone's throat? The short answer is 'a lot.'"

"All right, well how about this: why did the defendant have blood on the front of her clothes if she killed the victim from behind?"

"The murder weapon was dripping with blood. Seems only logical some of it might've dripped onto her clothes."

"But why wouldn't she have disposed of all her clothing if she knew it had bloodstains on it?"

"Well, she got rid of the jacket, but if you're askin' me why she didn't go shirtless… Well, I can think of a couple'a good reasons. Also, the bloodstains on the shirt were small—maybe she didn't notice 'em, or she just hoped no one else would. Takin' off her shirt in public, though, I don't think was an option."

"The photograph you found in the jacket was a picture of all the defendant's friends, right?"

"'Sright."

"Was the defendant included in that photo?"

"Yup."

"So, couldn't it just as easily be evidence of any of the victim's friends, not just Morgan Cassidy?"

"Well, yeah, but that's why we have the fingerprints and the means of attack."

"Okay, speaking of those means of attack, can you be sure it was Morgan just from the way it seems the crime was committed."

"It's not an exact science, but we still have the fingerprints. It's a reasonable explanation based upon the circumstances that's supported by the incontrovertible physical evidence. You can take issue with it, but it doesn't change the fact that the defendant's fingerprints are on the murder weapon, end of story."

 _Damn, that was my last hope_ , Robin thought, _There has to be something wrong here, right? If Morgan didn't kill Ewan, then something the detective has said must not line up properly with the evidence. Detective Fletcher is right in saying that I can't fight fingerprints, so I have to stick to the flimsiest part of that explanation: the method. I don't care what the detective says, the knife shouldn't be that bloody if the kill was that quick, and there should have been more blood on the floor, too… I wonder… did anyone else see the scene that night? Ah! That's it!_

"Detective Fletcher," Robin straightened out his suit, "were you the first person to investigate the scene that night?"

"Formally, yeah," he nodded.

"What about informally?" Robin continued.

"I think the owner took a look, why?" the detective cocked an eyebrow.

"Isn't it obvious?" Robin shrugged, "If someone else investigated the scene first, it's possible for them to have planted evidence or altered the crime scene, isn't it?"

"Objection!" Lloyd Reed shouted, "That's a baseless accusation and you have no right to throw it out here."

"It's hard to tell how 'baseless' it is until I ask the owner, isn't it?" the attorney replied.

"There's no need," Lloyd growled, "it's pointless. You have no evidence to support the reason for questioning him!"

"Don't I?" Robin looked back to the detective, "Detective, is it true that you were speaking to the club's owner yesterday morning?"

"Y-Yeah," he winced.

"What were you speaking to him about?" the attorney demanded.

"W-Well, since he was the first one on the scene, I had to ask if he had seen anyone leaving, or if he had disturbed anything."

"And had he?"

"He's… under investigation."

"There!" Robin slapped his hand on his desk, "If the police suspect him of tampering with evidence, then I have every right to question him about it, specifically because that evidence is crucial to the prosecution's argument for Morgan Cassidy's guilt."

"Objection!" Lloyd cried.

"Overruled, Mr. Reed," the judge shook his head, "Mr. LeBlanc's reasoning is sound and his concern well founded. I therefore grant the defense's request and ask that the owner of the nightclub be brought forth to testify."

In a few moments, the same olive-haired man Robin had seen in the nightclub was being brought to the stand by the bailiff. He flashed a big smile at everyone in the court as he steadied himself before the judge.

"That was quick," the judge blinked.

"Yes, well," the witness rubbed the back of his neck, "As the club's owner, I had a vested interest in the trial, so I was among the gallery, as luck would have it."

"You deserted your business to watch today's trial? You're either very dedicated or incredibly irresponsible," commented Lloyd.

"Ah, my good partner Kent is watching over the club today, so don't worry yourself over it. Sain Cheval is nothing if not a consummate professional," he grinned back.

Lloyd Reed didn't seem impressed, "Very well. Name and occupation for the record?"

"As I just said, I am Sain Cheval, co-owner of Club Les Chevaliers along with Kent Clarke," he breathed an easy smile to the jury.

"Mr. Cheval," Lloyd grasped his chin, "Detective Fletcher told us you were under investigation for manipulation of the crime scene."

Sain laughed, "Most untrue, I assure you. Er, that I manipulated the crime scene. I am indeed under investigation, but I would never do something so heinous as destroy or fabricate evidence. After all, what reason would I have to do such a thing?"

"That's what we're here to find out, Mr. Cheval," Robin answered.

Lloyd took the conversation away from him, "Mr. Cheval, would you please tell the court what you saw when you arrived on the scene and what actions, if any, you took from that point."

"Certainly," the club owner smiled, "I was in my office not long before the murder, reading through expense reports, bills, maintenance necessities… Nothing of much interest, really. Feeling quite bored with that task, I decided to get up and stretch my legs, and also check on how things were going in the club. I saw that the dancers were breaking for a few minutes, and I must admit, I was a bit disappointed. I greeted a few of the patrons as the owner and asked how their evenings were going before taking a quick stop at the restroom. It was when I opened the door and took a few steps in that I saw it… The body. I was shocked, of course, to see all the blood on the floor. Honestly, I didn't even check to see if the lad was dead, I just called the police straight away and cordoned off the bathroom immediately."

"Thank you for your detailed account, Mr. Cheval," Lloyd said, leering at Robin from across his desk, "Void, I'm sure, of any untruths. I doubt there's any reason to question the words of Mr. Cheval, given the clarity he seems to show in his description, and, thus, Mr. LeBlanc's suspicions seem yet again unfounded."

Robin glared back, "I'll be the judge of that."

"No, I believe I will," coughed the judge.

"Oh, right, of course, Your Honor," Robin smiled sheepishly, "Uh, may I begin my cross-examination?"

"You may," the judge eyed him warily.

"Mr. Cheval, you said you greeted a few patrons. Did you recognize any of them?"

"Ah, I did see my dear friend Tethys there. I believe she was acting as a coach for one of the teams."

"And the sister of the deceased, as police records show," Lloyd added.

"How awful for that poor woman," the judge shook his head.

"Indeed," Robin agreed, "But… you didn't see this Tethys woman anywhere near the restrooms, did you?"

"Not at all, she was on the opposite side of the room by the time I went over there."

"So, you entered the bathroom and were surprised by the amount of blood, is that right?"

"I think any amount of blood on my floors would be troubling, yes."

"You were so troubled, in fact, that you called the police 'immediately,' to use your own words, right?"

"Yessir."

"What time do you think it was when you made that call?"

"Hm… I wasn't really looking at a clock at the moment. I'd guess around 10:15."

Robin's fingers cupped his chin.

"Well, Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge called out, "Have you satisfied yourself? Or is there still something you find questionable about Mr. Cheval's remarks?

 _Something here is pretty obviously off, based on what Colm told me_ , Robin thought, _but the question is "Why?" and, moreover, "How do I prove it?" I guess the best I can do is just hit on what I know and see where it leads me._

"Mr. Cheval," Robin cleared his throat, "You say that you called the police around 10:15?"

"I believe so, yes," he smiled.

Robin shook his head, "I regret to tell you that that is impossible."

A murmur moved through the courtroom and Lloyd Reed slammed a fist on his desk, "What? Don't be so damned coy, LeBlanc: what are you trying to say?"

"If you'll recall," Robin folded his arms, "Detective Fletcher said that it took about thirty minutes for the body to be discovered, presumably because that's when the call was put in to the police. There's no reason why the detective would have said that if the police had been called fifteen minutes earlier!"

"Objection!" Lloyd growled, "You can't know that! Maybe Detective Fletcher was describing when the police discovered the body. Besides, what's your point? What do you assume happened in those fifteen minutes that's so important?"

"Well, fifteen minutes offers a lot of time to hide or plant evidence, doesn't it?" Robin leered.

"Objection," Lloyd snapped his fingers, "the defense is speculating. Without proof, this type of allegation means nothing."

"I agree with Mr. Reed, Mr. LeBlanc," announced the judge, "I was hoping that you could provide evidence to support your conclusions, rather than simply reframe your allegations. If you can't draw anything new from this testimony, I will have to conclude it at once."

 _Damn_ ¸ Robin sighed to himself, _I must be missing something. Well, if Mr. Cheval isn't telling the whole truth, there must be some detail he's not properly describing, something that doesn't fit in with everything I've heard so far. Did I hear anything that didn't fit with Colm's description of the scene? …Oh, that's right…!_ Robin LeBlanc composed himself and stared at Sain Cheval carefully, nursing the thought.

"So, what will it be, Mr. LeBlanc?" Lloyd Reed asked, tapping his finger on his arm, "Will you end this cross-examination and concede that your questions are without significance? Or will you insist on fighting on?"

"I just need to ask one more question," the attorney sighed, "Mr. Cheval, why was there so much blood on the floor?"

Sain Cheval cocked his eyebrow, along with several others in the courtroom, "Er, because the lad had been stabbed.

"I think you misunderstood my question, Mr. Cheval," Robin smiled, "I asked why was there _so much_ blood on the floor?"

Sweat began to appear above Sain's eyebrows, "I… I fear the meaning of the defense's question eludes me…"

"I feel the same," Lloyd scowled, "LeBlanc, what are you getting at? That question has been asked and answered."

"Think of it this way," Robin offered, "Recall Detective Fletcher's description: the only notable bloodstains were all over the knife, on Morgan's clothes, and on a jacket that had been thrown in the trash. The amount of blood on the floor that came from the wound was negligible, at least, according to the detective's testimony."

"Ah!" Lloyd grit his teeth, "You mean to say…"

"But Mr. Cheval said he was shocked by the amount of blood he saw… If the scene was as the detective described, that amount would have been almost nothing!"

"O-Objection!" Lloyd stammered, "You don't know the state of the scene at the time, or how Mr. Cheval observed it… you… you're grasping at straws!"

"If the scene was any different between when Mr. Cheval and Detective Fletcher observed it, the court deserves to know. And there's no way to misinterpret the difference between their two testimonies." Suddenly, the attorney whipped his head up to Sain, "Mr. Cheval, this is your last chance, tell the court about what you know! If you say it now, the law may be kinder to you, but if it's discovered that you lied to a court to cover up your involvement, well… I know firsthand that prosecutors won't take that kindly."

Sain's pupils contracted to a tenth of their size and his lips quivered as he stared back at the attorney.

"Don't threaten the witness, you cur!" Lloyd roared.

The judge rapped his gavel a few times, "Order, order! There will be no such outbursts in my courtroom!"

This command was scarcely heard as murmurs and whispers escaped the lips of everyone in the gallery, all of them leering down at Sain Cheval. The olive-haired man looked around the room, rubbing his neck and feeling the pressure of their stares, and then his gaze fixed on one particular person: he saw the defendant, the sweet, brown-eyed little girl, sitting and looking forlorn at the handcuffs bound around her wrists. With a tickle in his throat and closed eyes, Sain lifted his head, "A-All right… I admit… I… did it."

The murmur in the courtroom quickly fell silent and all eyes looked to Sain.

He looked back up at them with tears at the corners of his eyes, "I… I did it, okay? I… I cleaned up the blooooooooooooooood!"

The entire court was taken aback by the shout, but Robin was prepared to seize upon the confession, "S-So… Mr. Cheval, you admit that you cleaned up the victim's blood before the police arrived?"

"Yes," he sighed, "I… I know it seems ridiculous now, but, when I saw it, all I could think of was how messy the floors looked, and so I just… I busied myself tidying it up… I don't really know what I was thinking."

Colm Fletcher stood up, "You lyin' sack of crap! What else've you been hiding, huh? I knew you stunk from the moment I saw you! Did you frame this little girl?!"

"N-No, please, you have to believe, I didn't want anything like that," the witness begged.

"Hard to believe, given where you now stand," Lloyd Reed folded his arms, "Well, you must be overjoyed, Mr. LeBlanc. I assume you intend to indict Mr. Cheval, in which case, well… to put it bluntly, the prosecution would not disagree."

"No," Robin shook his head.

Gasps and disbelieving remarks shook out through the gallery. Lloyd stared his opponent down, "What? But you have every excuse to accuse him now… Isn't that what you want? I'll be frank, Mr. LeBlanc, your odds of successfully defending this girl look quite good if you simply let this be the end of the trial."

"It's not just about defending Morgan," Robin went on, "I'm looking to find who's really responsible, and to have them face justice. I'm not convinced Sain Cheval had anything to do with the crime itself; he had no relation to the victim or defendant and he offers an alibi that can be verified by others in the building, since he introduced himself as the club's owner."

"But then why do you imagine he cleaned up that blood?" Lloyd continued.

"Simple: I believe Mr. Cheval has been telling the truth, with the exception of his omitting the part about cleaning the blood. He was shocked when he saw all the blood on the floor, and so he acted irrationally, trying to clean it up, as if it might make a difference. When he'd gotten past the initial shock and came to his senses, he did the proper thing and called the police while blocking up the restroom," the attorney summarized. Sain mouthed a "thank you" from the witness stand.

Lloyd was still watching the opposing counsel closely, but he took a step back from his desk, sighing, "Very well, it's not up to me to counsel you. If Mr. LeBlanc does not wish to indict Mr. Cheval, then the prosecution sees no further need for questioning of this witness. His crime is clear, and he will be tried appropriately at a later date, but the prosecution is of the opinion that the witness's interference with the crime scene does not sufficiently discredit the prosecution's precise and thorough investigation, as the mere fact of it fails to evince any innocence on the part of the defendant. For now, the prosecution would like to continue the trial by bringing forth its next witness."

The judge nodded, "Any objections, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"W-Well," Robin coughed, "Um, the fact that the detective's conclusion about the blood was incorrect means that the police and therefore the prosecution have less of a reason to suspect Ms. Cassidy, isn't that right?"

Lloyd Reed laughed, "Not quite, Mr. LeBlanc. I thank you for outing Mr. Cheval for his meddling, but the prosecution has much stronger evidence to present in the form of motive. A very strong motive at that."

"Then please proceed, Mr. Reed."

"Thank you, Your Honor. If it pleases the court, the prosecution has four additional witnesses prepared, though their statements and contribution to the investigation vary in significance."

Robin swallowed, _Did he say four? I don't like the sound of that._

"They are all friends of the victim and defendant, Your Honor. And the one who I am about to call will provide for the court the reason for the altercation between the defendant and victim. Will Ms. Nino Cooper please come forward?"

In a few moments, the emerald-haired high school graduate was led to the stand. From there, she looked quite a bit like Morgan, with youthful eyes and pale, smiling lips. She was dressed slightly more professionally, sporting a lavender t-shirt and some purple pants that were neatly pressed and fit her exactly, as well as a violet hairband that kept her green locks in neat curls behind her ears.

"Name and occupation for the record?" Lloyd asked, whipping out a small pair of eyeglasses and looking down at a paper in his hand.

"Nino Cooper. Uh, I was a student until I graduated, so… I guess I'm unemployed."

"Thank you, Ms. Cooper," the prosecutor adjusted his glasses, "Do you know or are you at all familiar with the defendant, Ms. Morgan Cassidy?"

"Yes," she nodded, "Morgan has been one of my friends since grade school."

"I see. Do you also know the victim?"

"Yes, I was introduced to him through Morgan."

"They were friends as well?"

"Right."

Robin watched the prosecutor, _This isn't good. Whenever Lloyd gets into these long-winded, specific question-and-answer directs, it always leads to something particularly upsetting._

"Were you in attendance at the dance competition at the Les Chevaliers night club on the night of October 17th?" Lloyd went on.

"I was."

"Was anyone else with you?"

"Yes, all of my friends were there: Morgan, Ewan, Ross, Cath, and Inigo, who was performing."

"And did you hear about the crime that occurred that night?"

"Of course."

"Did you become suspicious of anyone when you heard that news?"

"I did. I suspected Morgan."

"And why would that be?"

"Well, prior to our attendance at the dance competition, Morgan and Ewan had been involved in a fight."

"A fight? What sort of fight do you mean?"

"There was an incident where Morgan assaulted Ewan a few days prior to the murder."

The court stirred with yet more whispers, and Robin looked over at Morgan, whose face was growing pale as she shrank in her chair. "Objection!" the attorney shouted, "The defendant can't be convicted on the basis of a prior bad act."

"Objection," Lloyd shook his head, "the prosecution isn't asserting that the assault led to the murder of Ewan Allen, we merely posit that the defendant and victim had a history of hostility toward one another shortly before the murder occurred. Now, Ms. Cooper, do you know what this fight was about?"

"Yes, Ewan was angry at Morgan for spreading some… unfortunate rumors about Ewan."

"Unfortunate? Well, they must have been quite bad if there was an altercation. Can you tell us what these rumors were, specifically?"

Nino paused and bit her lip.

"It's all right, dear. It's all in the name of the law at this point. Everyone in this court knows it's nothing more than a silly rumor, but it's important to give the court context."

"Well… apparently, Morgan had been going around telling others that Ewan was gay."

"I see. Yes, I could see how such an insidious rumor might be very ruinous and upsetting for an adolescent such as the victim. And how do you know all this?"

"Ewan came to me for help first when he heard about the rumors. I suggested he talk to Morgan about it."

"And were you present when he did so?"

"Yes, that's how I knew about the assault, since Morgan was never charged. I managed to calm them both down before the fight escalated."

"And, to the best of your knowledge, a satisfactory resolution for these two, Morgan and Ewan, was never reached on the subject of these rumors prior to the night of the murder?"

"That's right."

"Thank you, Ms. Cooper," Lloyd smiled. Heads began to turn in the court, and Robin looked again to Morgan, who was lowering her head. He could see her eyes were turning red and wet, and her scarlet hair was bobbing as her shoulders heaved.

Creasing his eyebrows, the attorney thought to say something, "M-Morgan? Are you… going to be okay?"

Her teary eyes looked up, "Oh, yeah, I'm fine, I just… uh…" she coughed and wiped her face, "I feel… I never got to… It just reminded me…"

Robin put his hand on the girl's shoulder, "I… understand. You don't need to say anything more. Just try to take deep breaths."

"Well," Lloyd stretched out his arm and bowed his head to the judge, "There you have it, Your Honor. Clear and present evidence of motive, in conjunction with as-of-yet-not-disproved physical evidence… It is without question that the only logical solution to the puzzle with which we have been presented is that Morgan Cassidy is the murderer."

The judge cleared his throat and thoughtfully stroked his beard, then added a quick rub to his glimmering pate before continuing, "I agree that the witness's explanation would seem to further implicate the defendant, despite some of the questions raised by the defense. Mr. LeBlanc, are you prepared to cross-examine the witness?"

"Yes, Your Honor," the attorney nodded, his arm still around Morgan.

The judge noticed the gesture and his eyes led up to Morgan's reddened face: "Is the defendant all right, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"She was… upset by the witness's testimony, Your Honor. Reminded of the friend she lost." Robin made sure to look at the jury.

Lloyd sneered, "The courtroom is no place for sobbing children. If she can't control herself, perhaps we should excuse the defendant and have her return to her holding cell."

Robin LeBlanc turned to face Morgan, dropping his voice to just above the threshold of audibility: "If this is too much for you, Morgan, I can ask them to have you wait in another room with Eirika—er, your mother. It's no problem."

"N-No," she wiped her eyes, "I… I have to be here for this. I have to know what they're saying about me."

 _Poor girl_ , Robin frowned, _and still, she's facing these accusations head-on, even at her age… I can't let her down_.

"Mr. LeBlanc," the judge called, "is the defense considering the prosecution's proposal?"

"That won't be necessary," Robin protested, "She's just having a moment, Your Honor. Anyone would be upset hearing about their friend in such a way, hearing themselves implicated. It's important that the defendant is present to hear the case against her."

"Very good," said the judge, "Then, please, begin your cross-examination."

"With pleasure, Your Honor," Robin made a conscious effort to sharpen his eyes on the girl behind the stand. "Ms. Cooper," he declared loudly, "You were very quick to condemn Ms. Cassidy. Why is that? You were such close friends, according to your own statements."

"Morgan and I were—are close, but… I'm sorry, Morgie, but when it turned out that Ewan had been killed, knowing what I knew… how could I possibly keep quiet? It was really the only explanation."

"The only explanation? Ms. Cooper, were you presented with any of the evidence gathered by the investigation team?"

"Not before today's trial, no."

"So what made you so sure it could only have been Morgan, and not anyone else in the club?"

Nino's eyes widened, and she swallowed, "W-Well… I mean, I guess it wasn't the _only_ possible explanation, but, like I said, how could I keep quiet about what I knew when the police were asking about Ewan having enemies?"

"The defense's point of argument is trivial," Lloyd added, "The girl did the right thing in telling the police about the assault, after having made a perfectly reasonable deduction in her head. I suggest we move on."

"I agree," the judge nodded, "unless you've got some compelling evidence to change our minds, Mr. LeBlanc."

The attorney sighed, "Not at this time, Your Honor. Now, Ms. Cooper, you say you witnessed my client assaulting the victim some time prior to the murder?"

"That's right."

"Why were you present for that?"

"Ewan asked me to come along when he confronted Morgan. Ewan's smart, but… he's not the strongest or most confident guy. He wanted me as backup, basically, probably on account of my great taijutsu skills!" The court watched the witness strike a fighting pose, accompanied by an incomprehensible shout.

The judge banged his gavel, "There will be no martial arts displays in this courtroom, thank you."

"Yes, Your Honor," Nino shuffled back to the stand.

"So, Ewan needed you for protection," Robin continued, "You didn't do a very good job, seeing as how he was apparently attacked regardless."

"Hey, screw you," Nino growled, "I was _trying_ to stop the fight. You're really going to blame me because she got one punch in?"

"Indeed," Lloyd compounded, "I fail to see how the witness's success as a bodyguard is relevant to the matter at hand."

"Fine, one more question," Robin tugged at his collar, "You said Ewan and Morgan never resolved their argument, right? So why did they agree to attend the concert together?"

"They weren't going for the sake of being with one another, they were going for Inigo's sake. I'm pretty sure they avoided each other the whole night."

"Th-That's not true," Morgan protested.

"Come again?" Lloyd put his hand on his desk and leered at the defendant.

"What she just said…" the girl repeated, "It isn't true. Ewan and I… we agreed before that night to be there as friends. We never made up for the argument, but… we promised we'd be kind to each other. It was going to be our last night together as friends."

"Well, it's your word against hers," Lloyd dismissed, "I'd advise we continue the trial."

"What do you mean your 'last night together as friends,' Morgan?" Robin looked to his side.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? Since we'd all graduated, we went to Inigo's performance as a sort of last hurrah for our group of friends, since we'd all be going our separate ways before long."

 _Hm. I don't recall hearing that before. So, this was their way of saying goodbye to one another, huh? Well, it looks like somebody had a mind to make that goodbye a little more permanent_ , the attorney thought, cupping his chin.

"If the defendant is done interrupting, I'd like us to return to the cross-examination," Lloyd folded his arms.

The judge nodded, "I do apologize, but unless there's a substantial point to be made here, I must insist that we proceed with the trial."

Robin placed his hands on his desk. He stayed silent for a moment, staring blankly at the girl on the witness stand, then glancing over at his opposing counsel, who, on the other hand, was trying his best to appear not to be looking back at Robin, although Robin could feel the prosecutor's eyes slowly trying to read his face. The attorney also looked down at Morgan, who returned his gaze expectantly, her eyes gradually drying. Robin sighed to himself, _Oh, no. I can't think of anything to say… Nothing to say… Agh! No! No, not again! Tell me this isn't happening again!_

" _Mr. LeBlanc, was it? It's time for you to speak up."_

"What's the matter?" Lloyd spoke up, "Have you finally gotten it through your head? Without any evidence in your favor, this case is lost. All of the physical evidence points to her and she has a perfect motive. Just accept it, LeBlanc. You've lost. Now, end this pointless cross-examination and go out with some dignity, will you?"

" _There's… the evidence… the evidence is…"_

"I…" Robin could feel sweat staining his collar, "I just need more time…"

" _You have no co-counsel, Mr. LeBlanc. You must do this yourself. Look upon the evidence and tell the court what you know."_

"More time?" Lloyd Reed scoffed, "There is no more time. This is the trial, and if you aren't adequately prepared for it, you have to live with the burden of your failure."

" _I…"_

Robin took a step back, still silent. Morgan looked back at him.

" _Well? Mr. LeBlanc, does the defense have any new evidence to present?"_

"I do commend you for your work thus far. Really, you bested me once and thoroughly humiliated me in so doing, but luck can only get you so far. End this tiresome charade and no one will blame you for all that you have accomplished thus far."

" _The defense… the defense…"_

Robin stepped back again, his jaw tensing. Morgan was even more concerned, "Mr. LeBlanc? Are you… feeling okay?"

 _Dammit! My muscles are freezing up. My mouth won't open. It's just like before! Why… why is this happening now? Why, when I've been fine for so long… Why am I afraid now? Just say something, anything! Shout "Objection!" at the top of your lungs! Anything to make this stop!_

Robin's eyes were widened and strained by apparent fear. Both of his hands shook and tried to clench into fists. People in the gallery who were previously distracted started to cast gazes toward the young man.

 _They're all staring! It's making it so much worse! But… why? I thought I was past this! I haven't been scared like this since… since Mr. Verlaine…_

"Mr. LeBlanc?" The judge's eyes opened wide as he leaned forward over his bench, "Is something wrong? There's no need to be so upset, this is all a very normal part of the trial."

 _No evidence. No leads. No help. I've got nothing. I… what do I do? What do I say?_

Lloyd Reed slammed his hands on his desk, "Mr. LeBlanc! I understand your devastation, but do show a little composure. This is still a court of law we're in."

 _The other trials… I got through them, so why now? I… I can't breathe._

A pale-faced Robin LeBlanc tottered backward before collapsing to the floor. A fury of voices ripped through the courtroom as the judge hammered his gavel rapidly and loudly, trying simultaneously to quiet the crowd and summon help for the fallen attorney. Lloyd Reed stared at the unconscious heap scrupulously for a minute, and when a resident doctor arrived, he stepped out.

The court was forced into recess.

[Turnabout of a Kind ~ Trial Day 1 Former-End]


	10. Turnabout of a Kind: Day 1 Trial Latter

[October 19th, 12:08 pm, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 4]

Robin woke up and shouted, throwing his hands forward like he had breached the surface of an infinite sea.

"Whoa! Easy, big fella," he felt Anna holding his chest down.

"Anna…?" he muttered sleepily, "I… The trial! What happened to the trial?!"

"It's fine," Anna kept the pressure applied to his midsection, "The judge suspended the trial when you keeled over. Doctors say you're okay, but you're luck you didn't hit your head on anything too solid. Not that there was much worth saving up there to begin with."

"I can't believe," he rasped, his mouth feeling full of cotton, "I didn't think…"

"Neither did I," the redhead frowned at him, "I mean, I always had it in the back of my mind, but when the first two trials came and went, I thought things had changed."

The attorney looked down, "So did I. I guess they haven't."

Anna noticed the remark and grabbed his shoulder, "Hey, c'mon now! A little fainting spell is no excuse to let yourself sputter out. You've still got a little girl and her mom—who, I might add, is your former employer's daughter—out there to help."

"I know, but," he paused again, "I just don't know what more to do. I felt so useless in that moment, and then, all of a sudden… everything came back. I haven't progressed so much as a day."

"Robin, enough. It happened. The best thing you can do is get back on your feet—carefully—and finish this trial," the redhead sighed, "Plus, I'm gonna feel like crap until I see you up and at 'em again, so…"

At once, the door to the defendant lobby opened, and a young man with glasses stepped in and looked Robin over. Behind him, Morgan and Eirika also walked up to the attorney. Morgan hurried to place herself directly at his side, opposite Anna, "Mr. LeBlanc! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," he groaned, "I'm just sorry you had to see that, Morgan. I'm supposed to be taking care of your defense, standing tall up there, and you had to watch me collapse, speechless. I'll understand if your confidence in me is more than a little shaken by now."

"I wouldn't say that," she shook her head, "I'm just confused. What happened?"

"I… to be honest, I got scared. It's happened to me before, but it varies in severity. I haven't had an attack like that since…" the attorney paused and saw Eirika Verlaine in his periphery, "…In a very long time. Long enough that I thought I was over it. I was just panicked in the moment, and my body wouldn't listen to me. Ms. Verlaine, I'll understand if you want me off your daughter's defense."

"Do you think that's what my father would say?"

"What? No, but I'm not Fado Verlaine, I'm just—"

"Just the partner to whom he bequeathed everything?"

"Partner… I don't think that's the right term."

"Well, whatever you want to call it, my dad clearly thought there was something to you. Do you want to be the one to prove him wrong, in front of his own daughter, no less?"

"Of course not, but—"

"'But' nothing! Get up and get back to it, then."

"That's what I was saying," Anna folded her arms.

Robin sighed, _They don't understand. I appreciate their help, but it's not so simple. This shadow that's followed me all my life… What happens when my confidence breaks down again? When the words don't come out and the judge isn't feeling so lenient? I couldn't bear to fail anyone like that._

"Mr. LeBlanc," Robin turned his head back to the girl at his bedside, "I've seen you in your other trials. You think so clearly about things… maybe you should just stop worrying about the trial and think about the problem. Once you think it through, then I know that you can solve this!" At this thought, the girl smiled and pumped her fists.

 _Not bad advice, honestly_. _And she's the one I'm supposed to be helping. Argh! I can't stand being so useless! Even if it kills me, I have to get back in there, to help her!_ Robin acknowledged. "Hm. Thanks, Morgan. I guess if I'm going to go down in this trial, I had better go down swinging." The attorney sat up on the sofa and slowly lifted himself to his feet.

The bailiff trotted over, "Is Mr. LeBlanc prepared to continue the trial?"

The doctor who had walked in nodded both at Robin and the bailiff. Robin also nodded, "I'm ready." _Thanks to a few good pep talks._

"Very good," said the bailiff, "I'll inform His Honor and the trial will reconvene shortly."

"Thank you," Robin saw him off, "And thank all of you, too. Ms. Verlaine, Morgan, I still have a lot of doubts, but if you place your trust in me, I suppose I simply can't let you down. And Anna…"

She looked up, twiddling her fingers inconspicuously.

"I really appreciate you coming down here."

"Are you kidding? I heard you had keeled over and I rushed right into—uh, I mean… I couldn't very well leave you all by your lonesome like that, could I?"

"I guess not," he smiled, "still, thanks."

"Sure."

"I doubt Prosecutor Reed is going to be kind," Eirika noted, "Do you think you're ready to face that again?"

"I do. I've got a new strategy, after all," he nodded.

"What's that?" Eirika cocked an eyebrow.

"I'm going to follow someone's good advice," the attorney faced the door.

[October 19th, 12:18 pm, District Court-Courtroom No. 4]

The members of the gallery and jury trickled in noisily until the judge rapped his gavel on his bench a few times calling for order. When the noise filtered out, the judge eyed the young attorney before him, "Court will now reconvene for the trial of Morgan Cassidy. Mr. LeBlanc, I'm told you had medical attention following your fainting spell."

"Yes, Your Honor," he nodded as confidently as he could force himself to appear, "I apologize to the court for that disturbance—I have an unfortunate history of succumbing to fainting spells."

"I see," the judge surmised, stroking his long beard thoughtfully, "I'm sorry to hear that. I would hope that it doesn't happen again."

"It won't, Your Honor," Robin shook his head, "I was panicked for a moment, but my head is clear now. I'll have no further difficulty completing this trial, and I thank Your Honor for extending me the courtesy of having the opportunity."

The judge smiled, "I think you will go quite far with that attitude, Mr. LeBlanc. Quite far. Now, I believe you were in the middle of a cross-examination…?"

"He was at the end of one," Lloyd Reed corrected the judge, "I find your 'sudden' fainting spell quite convenient, Mr. LeBlanc."

"You can attack me all you want, Mr. Reed," Robin replied, "the issue at hand is the guilt or innocence of Ms. Cassidy."

"And am I to assume that you've magically found some new evidence with which to present the court that assures the defendant's innocence?"

"Not exactly. I don't have new evidence to present, but I have been given a long period of time to consider the evidence presented thus far, and I'm struck by something interesting."

Lloyd smiled, "Oh, now this is rich. Please, do tell."

Robin folded his arms, "Let's consider what we know. The murder occurred on an evening wherein Morgan Cassidy and all of her friends would be attending a performance featuring Inigo Morales, another friend. They all knew each of them was going to be present. Next, the victim was a member of the circle of friends. Thirdly, entered into evidence was not one but two student-issued jackets with the victim's blood on them. Fourth, one of the jackets, the one not worn by the defendant, was thrown in the trash and contained a photograph of all the friends together. Fifth, the crime was committed at a time when all of the friends' eyes would be drawn to the stage—whoever committed the murder knew that. Lastly, the prosecution suspects Morgan Cassidy because she was in this circle of friends, she had the victim's blood on her jacket, she is of an appropriate stature for the method by which the wound was inflicted, and the fact that her fingerprints are on the murder weapon, a kitchen knife."

Lloyd rolled his eyes, "Yes, thank you for that very valuable recap. Do you have anything to add, Mr. LeBlanc?"

He bent his head and smiled, "Of course I do. During the course of this trial, it was shown that the blood at the crime scene had been altered, calling into question the validity of the prosecution's deductions about the method of attack. Also, it was noted that the knife was of common make. It could have come from anywhere."

"Meaning what, Mr. LeBlanc?" Prosecutor Reed glared at him.

"Meaning that even if Morgan touched the knife, it didn't necessarily belong to her, or vice versa."

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "Don't be dense! It doesn't matter who the blade belonged to, just that it was responsible for killing the victim."

"Detective Fletcher," Robin called, "I know you're in the room. Were any other prints found on the blade?"

"Uh, yeah," he admitted, "a whole bunch, actually. But the defendant's were the easiest to identify because they were the newest."

"But that would only prove that she was the last one to touch the knife, right?" Robin pressed.

"Objection!" Lloyd called again, "This is irrelevant! There's no evidence contradicting the claim that the defendant touched the blade and used it to kill the victim. Whether anyone touched it before her is trivial."

"This also leaves a hole in the prosecution's story: if the defendant didn't own the knife, where did she get it from?" Robin added.

"We're investigating that," Colm talked around his cigarette, "Coulda come from a store."

"But, in that case," Robin noted, "wouldn't it be just as likely that she had touched the knife while shopping but not bought it? If the prosecution doesn't know where the weapon came from, how can they be so sure the defendant had access to it?"

Lloyd slapped his desk, "Because of the fingerprints, you fool! Stop being so… foolish!"

"How do you know those fingerprints weren't planted?!" Robin barked back.

"Occam's Razor, that's how!" Lloyd shouted, "If they were planted, show the court some evidence as such!"

Robin smirked, "As you wish."

Lloyd Reed's eyes shifted, "What?"

"As I said, there were two jackets stained with blood at the scene. One of them was thrown away. Why would that be?" the attorney asked.

"The defendant wanted to conceal the evidence, of course," answered the prosecutor.

Robin shook his head, "That doesn't make a shred of sense. If the killer wanted to get rid of the evidence, why didn't he or she move the body, or clean up the blood, or do anything logical? If the killer wanted to hide evidence, throwing a jacket in the trash is the worst possible thing he or she could have done!"

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "We don't have to assume that the criminal is intelligent, Mr. LeBlanc!"

"No," he agreed, "but there's another reason the prosecution's claim is false."

"And what's that?"

"The prosecution has been making a fundamentally incorrect assumption about this particular piece of evidence since the beginning of the trial. The jacket in question could not have belonged to Ewan Allen!"

"W-What?! How do you figure?!"

"If you recall Detective Fletcher's testimony, you'll remember that he described the jacket as having 'similar bloodstains' to those on the jacket Morgan was wearing when she was arrested. Looking at this other jacket, the stains are similar in size and placement, but this contradicts the prosecution's version of events: if Ewan Allen was the one wearing this jacket when he was killed, there should be much more blood on it!"

"Argh!" Lloyd punched his desk.

"B-But," the judge stammered, "Mr. LeBlanc, what is the meaning of this? If the victim was not the one who wore this bloodstained jacket, then who was?"

"Simple, Your Honor: the person who killed Ewan Allen!"

"Objection! I won't abide your stupid conjecture, LeBlanc! How can you claim that in the face of all the other evidence, like the fingerprints on the weapon?"

"Still hung up on that? What if the murderer was wearing gloves?"

"Then where are those gloves? Why weren't traces of latex or rubber found on the weapon? You haven't got any real evidence!"

Robin grimaced, _Damn. He's right in that regard. I just don't have the physical evidence to counter him, whatever I say. I'll never get very far as long as those fingerprints are on that weapon, taunting me!_

"Mr. LeBlanc," Robin turned his head quickly as he heard a voice beside him. Morgan was staring back at him, "Um, just a thought, but… you'll never get very far so long as Mr. Reed can bring things back to those fingerprints. Maybe you should think about things differently. Like, instead of trying to disprove why the prints were there, maybe you could prove that something is missing prints? I never went into the men's room, so I couldn't have picked up that knife… surely there's something else the killer must have touched, right?"

Robin's eyes widened and he exclaimed, "Morgan, you're a genius!"

The judge eyed him warily, "Mr. LeBlanc, I want no such outbursts in my court. Now, have you got evidence or not?"

"W-Well," Robin replied sheepishly, "my evidence is… er, the lack of evidence, so to speak."

"Talk sense," Prosecutor Reed demanded.

"Well, if we take the prosecution's theory that Morgan Cassidy's prints are on the murder weapon because she killed the victim, then her prints should also be on the door handle of the men's room!"

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "Many people's prints could be on that handle. It'd be impossible to know if the defendant had touched it or not."

"Objection!" Robin smirked, "That's what I said when I mentioned that the knife was of common make, but you claimed that Morgan had to have touched it during the murder because her prints were the most prominent, and, therefore, the most recent. If we follow that logic for the door handle, only one other person's fingerprints should be more recent on the handle: those of Sain Cheval! Mr. Cheval was the only other person to enter the men's room, prior to it being closed off until the police investigation, wherein all of the investigating officers would have been wearing gloves when handling part of the scene. If Morgan's prints can be found on the knife, they should be found just as easily on the door handle!"

Lloyd Reed growled and beat his desk some more.

The judge cleared his throat, "Erm, since it seems Prosecutor Reed is in a bit of distress at the moment… Detective Fletcher, did the investigative team recover any samples of the defendant's fingerprints on the handle to the door to the men's restroom?"

"No, Your Honor," the cobalt-haired detective answered, "We found traces from a lot of folks, the owner included, but there are no prints on the handle that can be identified as belonging to Morgan Cassidy."

"This is preposterous!" Prosecutor Reed snarled, "Detective! You and your team are going to be receiving quite the lecture after this!"

Colm glanced aside at Robin, "Thanks a lot, lawyer-boy."

 _You say that like it's my fault,_ Robin sighed to himself.

"You did it, Mr. LeBlanc," Morgan smiled, "You turned everything on its head again! I don't know how you manage to pull off stuff like that."

"It was all thanks to you, Morgan," he nodded, "if you hadn't made that point about looking for what wasn't there, we'd have been up a creek for sure." She giggled proudly.

The judge rapped his gavel against the bench, "This is a very interesting fact that you have brought to light for us, Mr. LeBlanc, but tell us, what does this mean? If the defendant's prints were not on the door handle, but they were on the murder weapon, what can we conclude?"

"It's as I said earlier, Your Honor: the defendant's prints must have been planted on the weapon."

"If that is what you continue to assert," Lloyd crossed his arms, his eyes now shut tight with fury, "Then the next logical question is 'how?'"

"You mean 'How did the defendant's prints get planted on the murder weapon?'"

"That's right. If you're so confident that that's what happened, then surely you know how it was done."

 _Argh,_ Robin sighed, _here I was thinking I'd finally made some headway, but what can I say here? I have no idea how the prints were planted_. "Morgan," he turned his head, "do you remember touching a knife like the murder weapon any time in the recent past? Within a few days, say?"

She tapped her index finger on her chin, "I don't know… it looks like the knives my mom keeps in her kitchen, so… uh, maybe?"

 _No help there._ _Well, if Morgan doesn't remember putting her prints on the weapon, could it be that the prints were planted without her knowledge? But then, how could that be? Someone would have to…Ah!_ Robin slapped his hands on his desk, "Your Honor, I think I may have an explanation. See, we've gone through this whole trial assuming that Morgan had to have been the killer because she was the only one of her friends who fit the bill, but what if that's only because that's the way the killer wanted it to seem?"

"Get to the point," Lloyd barked.

"What if one of the defendant's friends had taken a sample of her fingerprints at some point, in anticipation of committing this very crime?"

"Hah!" the prosecutor scoffed, "What a ridiculous notion! Can I safely assume that that little hypothesis of yours has no proof behind it?"

"B-But…! It's the only possible solution!"

"Objection! Lots of things are possible, Mr. LeBlanc. That's why we have courts of law to decide what happened based on evidence. Right now, my explanation of events still accounts for all of the circumstantial evidence, meaning that while your explanation is 'possible,' it's simply not plausible. If you have no evidence to substantiate your claims, Mr. LeBlanc, then it's time to bow out and concede to those of us in this court who know what we're talking about."

"Objection! Then how do _you_ suppose Ms. Cassidy's prints got on the knife but not the door handle?"

The prosecutor shrugged, smirking, "The prints were on the door handle at one point, but they were smudged or wiped off. It's really quite simple to explain."

"But they couldn't be smudged—only Mr. Cheval touched the handle after the murder, by all accounts."

"So then they were wiped off, as I said."

"Then who do you imagine did the wiping?"

Lloyd Reed grimaced, "Ah."

The judge cleared his throat, "Mr. LeBlanc, would you be so kind as to explain what you and Prosecutor Reed are deliberating? I feel I've lost you."

"It's simple," Robin nodded, "the prosecution's version of events relies on Lloyd's argument that Morgan's prints were on the handle, but were removed. If that's the case, then someone else had to have removed the prints, but, if that's the case, then who could have done it, and how? No one entered the restroom following the discovery of the body, and we know that it was Mr. Cheval who made that discovery, because no one else called the police or reported finding a body in the restroom."

"So, if I follow you," the judge stroked his beard, "the only person it would seem logical to assume was responsible for wiping the defendant's prints is…"

Robin nodded, "Sain Cheval."

Lloyd clenched his fist, "That dunderheaded oaf! I'll get the health inspector to shut his club down and see that he never works in this town again!"

"Mr. Reed," the judge looked down, "please, cease muttering to yourself and summon Mr. Cheval, if you would."

"As Your Honor wishes," the prosecutor frowned, stepping out of the courtroom.

The air was silent but charged as whispers flew out from members of the gallery. Robin concentrated on the door from which Lloyd had exited and continued thinking.

"Mr. LeBlanc?" He looked down at Morgan, "Do you… do you really think Mr. Cheval was the one who killed Ewan?"

"I'm not sure…" The attorney shrugged, "The fact is, our case is in dire straits without some new evidence, so the only way for me to move forward was to contradict the prosecution's claims. If we bring Mr. Cheval back, maybe we can learn something new."

Morgan's eyes fell to the ground while her fist balled up as it was held before her chin. She let out an audible "hum" as Robin noticed the door opening once more. Within a minute, Sain Cheval was back on the stand.

"Well, hello madames et messieurs!" the olive-haired man waved, "I didn't think I'd be seeing you all again so soon. What's this all about? Do you need to hear a bit more about my lovely club? I'm happy to share—no trade secrets, though, mind you. Heh heh heh!"

"Be silent, you gibbering fool!" Lloyd's glare cut the witness in half.

"Eep!"

"Mr. Cheval, due to some new evidence that has come to light, you are suspected of having tampered with yet more evidence," the judge summarized.

"Wh-What?! Don't be silly," Sain shook his head, "I mopped up the floor because I wasn't in my right mind. Why would I have messed with anything else at that scene?"

Lloyd shook his head, too, "Still, unfortunately, we cannot deny the possibility. As such, you will testify once more, you quavering insect. Tell the court about what you did after you left the scene."

"You sure know how to make a fella feel welcome, Mr. Prosecutor," Sain Cheval sighed.

"I fear the guards of the Greater Ylissean State Penitentiary are even less welcoming than I, Mr. Cheval."

"Ah! Got me there, haha!"

"Testify already, you imbecile!"

"Oop! Er, right. So… let's see… After seeing the body, I was in quite a state of shock, as I'm sure you can imagine. As you know, rationality betrayed me a bit and, after I called the police, I went in to mop up the blood spilled by the victim. I know that was wrong, but…It was an odd moment for me. I make no excuses. Once the blood was mopped up, I left the restroom and cordoned it off from the other patrons. As soon as I felt certain the room was adequately locked, I left and waited in my office for the police to arrive."

Lloyd Reed nodded, "So, as you can see, Mr. LeBlanc, the witness did not tamper with the evidence any further following his contact of the police—as he mentioned, he would have no reason to do such a thing. Therefore, your argument is moot."

"Your Honor," the attorney said, "I'd like to cross-examine the witness."

The judge nodded, "Please, do go on, Mr. LeBlanc."

"Mr. Cheval," the attorney began, "You're perfectly certain that no one else could've entered the restroom when you left?"

"Indeed. My partner Kent and I hold the only keys to the room. Once it's locked, it would take one of us to open it again."

"Incidentally," Prosecutor Reed added, "the investigation determined there were no signs that the lock had been tampered with. Besides, if someone else had tried to use the door, their fingerprints would appear alongside Mr. Cheval's."

"Mr. Cheval," Robin continued, "Out of curiosity, where was your partner at the time?"

"Hm? Ah, Kent was back at home. He works the day shift and I take nights. I always have been something of a night owl."

"Meaning," Lloyd concluded, "Mr. Cheval's key was the only one anywhere near the premises at the time of the crime."

"Did anything happen while you were waiting for the police to arrive, Mr. Cheval?" Robin asked.

"Not really… Oh, except this bit of difficulty on the stage. Apparently, one of the performers was stalling because he was trying to call someone."

"Wh-What?!" Robin blinked.

"You…!" Lloyd leered at the witness.

The judge rapped his gavel on the bench, "Mr. LeBlanc, you seem to see some import in the witness's remarks. What is so intriguing?"

"Mr. Cheval," Robin looked up gravely, "the performer you're talking about… what was his name?"

"Hm… something a bit silly, as I recall. Foreign-sounding. Like, 'Laslow Pantalones,' or something."

"Would it happen to be… Inigo Morales?"

"That's the lad!" The gallery began to increase the volume of their murmurs, leading the judge to call for order. Sain looked around, "Uh, you're all giving me some pretty harsh stares… it's a little embarrassing, to be honest. Have I said something strange?"

"This is very important, Mr. Cheval," Robin placed his hands on his desk, "Do you know who Mr. Morales was trying to contact?"

"Uh…" the young man tugged at his collar, "You're putting me a bit on the spot here, and making that intense face isn't helping."

"Answer the question, fop," Lloyd scowled at him.

"I-I think it was… Hugh? Newman? Reuben?"

"Ewan," Robin sighed.

"Right again," Sain smiled, "My, it's as if you're reading my own memories better than I, Mr. LeBlanc. How do you do it?"

"You're telling this court that Inigo Morales tried to contact the victim before continuing with his performance?" Robin folded his arms.

"Ah! So this 'Ewan' was… Oh, well, that explains your excitement. Yes, I suppose that is what I'm saying."

"Mr. LeBlanc, is this detail significant to the case at hand?" the judge wondered.

"Of course it's significant, Your Honor," Robin nodded fervently, "This information was never made known to this court. It may be a crucial lead to understanding what really happened during the time of the murder!"

"Objection!" Lloyd shook his head, "Remember, Mr. LeBlanc: Mr. Cheval testified that this took place _after_ he discovered the body. I doubt there is much worthy of discussion in Mr. Morales's attempts to call his friend when the murder had already occurred."

"Objection!" Robin protested, "But take note of what else Mr. Cheval said: Mr. Morales stalled the performance in order to call Ewan. Plus, Inigo knew that Ewan was in the building. If this call was just for the sake of friendly conversation, it could have taken place after the performance, and not over the phone. The fact that Mr. Morales tried to contact Ewan by phone suggests there was some urgent reason he needed to speak to Ewan."

"Argh!" Lloyd slammed a fist on his desk.

"It seems the defense has raised a very prominent question," the judge nodded, "the actions of this Mr. Morales are indeed strange, and I think this court deserves an explanation. Mr. Reed, would you please bring that man to the stand?"

"Yes, Your Honor," the prosecutor grimaced.

Morgan stared at the witness stand—not at Sain, who was being led down by the bailiff, but at the stand itself, "Mr. LeBlanc… Inigo… why would he not tell anyone about this?"

"You mean you didn't know, either?" Robin blinked.

"No, none of us knew. They told the crowd the performance was being delayed due to a malfunction with the lighting equipment. Inigo… what are you playing at?"

 _That's what I'd like to know, too. He must have some reason_ , Robin supposed.

Footsteps sounded as a young man with neatly cropped hair took to the stand, lips strained as if they weren't sure quite what expression to make. His eyes flashed with recognition when they drifted over to the defense bench. It seemed that the lips then decided, because their corners turned down.

"Witness," Lloyd commanded, "State your name and occupation for the record."

The expression on the man's face shifted back into a smile, "My name… is Inigo Morales, dancer extraordinaire! My technique and charming countenance are soon to be known to the whole world!"

Lloyd slammed his fist on his desk, "I'm not interested in your pipe dreams, witness!"

"Ha ha!" the youth laughed, "Dreams are for those without the ability to see their goals accomplished! These are not dreams, fair prosecutor—these are my ambitions!"

"Whatever they are, they'll be cut quite short if you don't cut the chatter and start testifying."

"Intrepid Inigo's incomparable performances will never be stifled! If you were to lock me away, the ladies would surely riot!"

"Argh, just pay attention, you twit!" Lloyd growled.

 _Wow. He's even getting under Lloyd's skin. I don't remember him being this stubborn or… grandiose when I first met him. I wonder… is this some kind of stage persona?"_ Robin pinched his chin, "Er, Mr. Morales, while we all appreciate your talents, it's very important for this trial that we hear about something from you."

"Oh?" he grinned, "And, pray, what is that?"

Lloyd held a statement out in front of him and scanned it as he spoke, "Sain Cheval, the owner of the club where you performed on the night of the crime, testified that you attempted to contact the victim, Ewan Allen, during the performance. The defense seems to think you did so because there was something urgent about which you needed to speak to him."

"Ah!" the dancer nodded, "An intriguing theory, but altogether incorrect, I'm afraid. I was simply putting in a call to my dear friend to see how he was enjoying the performance."

The judge rapped his gavel, "Witness, you will testify to the court about the content of this call."

"If you insist," he shrugged, "I had just finished my first set, and I was feeling quite accomplished. The rest of my troupe, Thirty Missives to Marth, had performed admirably, and we were about ready to deliver the killing blow when I thought to call Ewan and ask how he and the others were enjoying the show. When I did call, however, I received no answer, and was quickly sent to voicemail. I didn't bother to leave a message because I assumed I'd see him soon enough, anyway. When I realized I was holding up the show, I got right back to it."

"There you have it, defense," Lloyd sighed, "No complicated plotting for unseen motivations, simply a man trying to contact his friend and losing track of time."

"Defense, you may begin your cross-examination."

Robin frowned, _It doesn't look like there's much that's factually contradictory about what Inigo just said, but I can't shake the feeling that he's holding something back. I'll just have to grill him until he lets something slip._ "So, Mr. Morales," he began, "you just decided to give Ewan a call out of the blue, even knowing that you'd speak to him later?"

"Indeed," he nodded, "I was hoping to speak with all of our friends, but he never picked up, so I had to give up on that plan."

"And you never wondered why he didn't answer?"

"It was a crowded venue, and the music and chatter were all quite loud: I assumed he didn't hear it go off."

"Why was it so important that you spoke to Ewan and the rest of your friends in the middle of your performance?"

"You're thinking about it all wrong, Mr. LeBlanc: I wasn't even considering the show, I just desperately wanted to know how my performance had looked from down there."

"You may not know it by looking at him," Morgan piped up, grabbing the attorney's attention, "but Inigo's really self-conscious. He's always looking for reassurances about his performances, especially from us."

 _But in the middle of such a big show_? Robin thought, _No, there must be some deeper explanation._ "So, you never got the impression that anything was wrong, Mr. Morales?"

He shook his head, "Why should I have? When I saw him come out of the bathroom, I figured everything must have been fine."

Robin's eyes widened, and Lloyd slammed his fist on his desk again.

Inigo blinked, "I'm sorry, have I spoken out of turn?"

"No, Mr. Morales, but…" Robin's jaw tensed, "Y-You… you say you saw the victim leaving the bathroom?"

"I believe so, why?"

Robin could feel the sweat building around his collar again, "Mr. Morales, what you're saying is…"

"Totally impossible!" Lloyd finished, "The victim was killed in the restroom during the interim of your performance. It would have been impossible for you to have seen him exiting the restroom!"

"Ah!" Inigo gasped, "During the interim…?"

The judge swung his gavel once more, "Witness, you will explain the significance of this obvious flaw in your testimony immediately!"

"O-Oh," he stuttered, "Um, let's see… It was… Um… it must have been someone else leaving the restroom, then."

"Objection!" Robin shouted, "But only Ewan and his killer were in the restroom at that time, so the only person who could have been leaving is Ewan's killer!"

"Urk!" Inigo bared his teeth and frowned, "M-Mr. LeBlanc… maybe you should let this one go… it's not as important as you think."

The attorney shook his head, "Sorry, Inigo, but I'm not one to do things halfway. If there's an unexplained hitch in the story we've heard thus far, I want to be able to explain it. Now, why did you think it was Ewan leaving the bathroom?"

Inigo swallowed, "Um… well, he was wearing his school-issued jacket, like all of us and… I could see his red hair…"

Robin's eyes jumped open again and the feeling of the heat and sweat on his neck grew ever more intense, "The person you saw had… red hair?"

Everyone in the court turned their gaze to the defendant, who brushed a few of her curly ruby locks out of her face, "Uh… Well, Ewan _did_ have reddish hair… more auburn, I'd say, but…"

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "Ha! Thank you, Mr. Morales. For once, your testimony has proven to be most valuable. As I'm sure the rest of the court has already noticed, our defendant sports a fine set of red hair herself. If Mr. Morales's observations ring true, well then, following the defense's very own logic, only the defendant could possibly have been the killer!"

"Ack!" Robin doubled over, "W-Wait, couldn't there have been someone else with red hair near the scene?"

Lloyd crossed his arms, "Who also happened to be wearing the school-issued jacket worn by the victim's friends? Unlikely."

"Unlikely maybe," Robin placed his hands on his desk, "but not impossible—the prosecution would do well to remember that Cath Nichols, one of the victim's other friends, also has red hair!"

The prosecutor held out his hands and shook his head, "But there were no physical traces of Ms. Nichols at the scene. Not to mention, there were no bloodstains on her jacket, but there were traces on those of Ms. Cassidy."

 _Ah, right_ , Robin frowned, _Well. This isn't good._

Inigo looked displeased, too, "I asked you to let it go, Mr. LeBlanc… I knew this is how things would go if I told everyone…"

 _Me and my big mouth_ , the attorney grimaced, _but that can't be right—Morgan's prints weren't on the door handle, so she couldn't have gone in or out of the room by normal means… This whole story only makes sense if it was someone else, but how can I explain away a physical characteristic like hair color? Unless… Hm. It's a bluff, but it's just crazy enough to make sense!_

Prosecutor Reed had folded his arms again, "You're remarkably quiet, for once, defense. Have you finally realized that no matter how much you quibble, there is no denying the truth?"

"The defense…" Robin swallowed, "Would like to present a new possibility to the court."

Lloyd slammed his fist on his desk, "Oh, enough already! What 'new possibility' could there possibly be this late into the trial?"

The judge pounded his gavel, "I share Prosecutor Reed's curiosity, Mr. LeBlanc: what is this possibility to which you are referring?"

"Something has been bothering me for a long time in this trial, since the detective's first testimony, and I think it's something that I'll finally be able to resolve. I'd like to propose," Robin glared at his opposing counsel, "that the person that Mr. Morales saw, the real killer of Ewan Allen, dyed their hair!"

Lloyd Reed assailed his desk once more, "Ridiculous! How quickly you insipid lawyers grasp at straws when the truth becomes inconvenient for you! How can you prove that the killer dyed their hair?"

"The court may recall the crime scene, as well as the detective's explanation," Robin reasoned, "Detective Fletcher mentioned that there were some as-yet undefined stains in the sink of a reddish-orange color. If these stains aren't blood, then they may be from a red hair dye!"

"Argh!" Lloyd clutched his chest, "But… that can't be! Even if the stains were there, you can't prove when they appeared on the sink—if they were stains from hair dye, it still doesn't prove that the murderer was the one who was using it! Besides, why would the murderer waste time dyeing their hair before committing the crime?"

"Why, to frame my client, of course," Robin smirked, "We've already established that the murderer had to be within the victim's circle of friends—if they had intimate knowledge of the conflict between Morgan and Ewan, then they would know that Morgan would be the best candidate on which to pin this murder!"

"Objection!" came Lloyd's rebuttal, "But what reason would any of the victim's other friends have had to kill him?"

Robin shook his head, "I can't say for sure, but we've already had one friend deliver surprise information about a fight no one else seemed to know about between the victim and defendant. Who's to say there aren't other conflicts underlying this circle of friends? And besides, even if I don't know the reason, the last person to enter the restroom before Ewan could prove whether or not those stains were present at the time. If they were, then the prosecution can't refute the possibility of what I've claimed!"

"But there were no security cameras at the club," Lloyd shook his head, "how does the defense plan to identify the last person to enter the restroom prior to the crime?"

"Aargh," Robin sighed, "He's got me there…"

"Mr. LeBlanc," he turned as Morgan chimed in once more, "Maybe now's the time to do that thing you do again."

"Y-You mean 'turn my thinking around?'"

"Right. What if, instead of trying to prove that the stains were there around the time of the murder, why not try to prove that they couldn't have been there before the murder?"

 _Girl's full of good ideas today_ , Robin smiled. "Prosecutor Reed," the attorney looked up, "up to now, the police's investigation has placed the victim at the sink, where he was surprised by the murderer, which would explain the stains they thought were blood on the sink. What does the prosecution suppose the victim was doing prior to being attacked?"

Lloyd folded his arms, "What kind of question is that? Presumably, he was washing his hands—ack!"

Robin smirked, "I see the prosecution now understands my point."

"I'm at a loss," the judge admitted, "has this resolved the discrepancy we were facing?"

Robin nodded, "If the victim washed his hands prior to being killed, then the stains found on the sink should have been washed away or diluted—there's no evidence of that, meaning that the stains could only have been made after the victim was killed!"

The gallery exploded with chatter, heads turning to each side to confirm what each was hearing. The judge was forced to slam down his gavel several times to return the silence as he called for order. "Mr. LeBlanc," the judge stroked his beard quickly, "what, exactly, does this mean for us? If the victim's murderer dyed their hair, then what does that tell us?"

Robin shut his eyes and sighed, "If the murderer used a red hair dye, we can make two conclusions: one, the killer does not have naturally red hair. And two, the killer intended to frame my client by disguising themselves. In other words, the only two people who could _not_ be guilty of this crime are Cath Nichols, and my client, Morgan Cassidy!"

The gallery burst into chatter once more, but they were all swiftly silenced by a lethally sharp shout that cut into the air, "Be silent!" Heads turned to Lloyd Reed, who was balling his fist so hard that the tension made his tendons quiver. "Mr. LeBlanc," he said the name with fangs of icy venom, "you made a mockery of me in this court once, but I won't allow it to happen again. If you won't cease your disgusting trickery yourself, then you force my hand."

"What are you talking about?" Robin stared back.

The prosecutor shook his head, "Don't tell me you've forgotten Ylisse's most important trial law, Mr. LeBlanc."

Robin paused, then flinched when he arrived at the realization. Morgan studied his face, "Mr. LeBlanc, what does he mean?"

"I mean, little whelp, that it's not enough for Mr. LeBlanc to provide evidence that seems to absolve you of the crime. In order to prove his case, Mr. LeBlanc must take up the prosecution's job and offer a detailed indictment of another party. Such is Ylissean law."

Morgan bit her lip, "Um… I don't quite, uh…"

"He means in order to have you declared not guilty, I have to pin the crime on someone else, and in this case, it can only be one of your friends," Robin looked at the floor.

Morgan gasped, "B-But, it couldn't…! I don't want my friends to…!"

"I'm sorry, Morgan, but I have no choice," he shook his head.

"So?" Lloyd Reed smiled, "Who will it be? Come, let the whole court hear who you plan to tear down in front of this little girl in order to 'save' her."

 _Reed, you black-hearted devil! Argh… it's not really him, it's this damnable Ylissean law, although Lloyd is taking advantage of it by making this as difficult as possible, making me call it out in front of Morgan. There really is no other way around it, but who could I possibly pick? I already said it can't be Cath—she has natural red hair, so she would have no reason to dye it. Inigo has an alibi, since he was on-stage and calling the victim at the time of the crime—phone records can prove that. That means it's down to a fifty-fifty between Ross Hammond and Nino Cooper, but which could it be? I don't have any evidence to support going after either of them, save their hair color. What should I say?_

"Objection."

Robin looked up, as did every head in the court.

Morgan stared at the judge, then glanced at Robin and Lloyd before turning to face the judge once more, "Y-Your Honor, I… the defense is… I, that is… I know that defendants in Ylissean courts of law are given certain rights during trials, and… I would like to invoke one of those rights now… by refusing to let Mr. LeBlanc respond. From here on… I want to represent myself."

"Objection!" Robin shouted, "Morgan you can't do that! They'll have you declared guilty if we don't identify another party!"

"There's no need…" she stammered, "there is no other guilty party! I confess my crime! I killed Ewan Allen!"

The gallery exploded again, requiring many shouts of "Order!" before it could actually be re-established.

"So, she finally owns up," Lloyd shook his head, smirking, "Not surprising."

"W-Wait just a moment," the judge's eyes were wide, "I thought the defense determined that only someone without natural red hair could have committed the crime."

"Speculation on the defense's part," Lloyd shook his head, "unsubstantiated by further evidence. It was unlikely that someone with red hair would have committed the crime, but it's far from impossible"

"I did it, all right? I snuck into the bathroom and killed him! I killed him because we got in a fight and I was mad!"

"Morgan, think about what you're doing!" Robin cried.

Another voice broke through the court, "Hold it right there!" Inigo Morales stood front and center in the court, "Ms. Cassidy's confession is precious little more than a very compassionate lie to save her friends… for it was I who killed Ewan Allen!"

"Y-You…?" the judge blinked.

"Indeed, I never much cared for the little man—he excelled in his academics, and always embarrassed me in our classes as such. I thought, therefore, to finally rid myself of him!"

Lloyd stared him down, "Impossible! Did you not testify that you called the deceased in the middle of your performance?"

"A cunning lie, don't you think? But I will not allow my dear friend Morgan to sacrifice herself for my sake: in reality, I absconded to the restroom during the break in my performance. The real reason for my tardiness was that I was disposing of the evidence from the scene of a murder!"

The excitement of the gallery was now so loud that the judge no longer bothered to call for order, as the murmur would not grow quiet no matter how many times he pounded his gavel.

"That's a lie!" Heads turned again, "I did it, don'cha see? I was the one mad at Ewan for embarrassing me over grades! Inigo and Morgan din't do nothin'!"

"And who are you?!" the judge stared.

"I'm Ross Hammond, friend to the victim and defendant alike. You guys don't have to throw You guys don't have to throw yourselves onto the fire for ol' me, much as I 'preciate it! I slunk off to the bathroom during the break and whacked our buddy, 'cause I'd gotten sick of his attitude. Please, put me in jail instead!"

"Ross, you idiot!" the soft voice of Nino Cooper wound out from another corner of the room, "Don't listen to him, people of the court! It was I, Nino Cooper, who slew the victim. He was so close to beating me in all of our classes, I couldn't stand the intensity of our rivalry anymore, so I killed him myself in an insane fit of rage, trying to stave off the pressure I felt!"

"You guys are all idiots," a dry voice called the court's attention to another part of the room, where Cath Nichols emerged from the doors to the prosecution's lobby, "Sweet idiots, but idiots all the same. I had it out for Ewan because he made fun of me on the sly to certain people… certain people I couldn't stand. So, when things were quiet, I slipped in and axed him out of revenge. I feel terrible about it, but I was so _angry_ …"

"Stop it!" Morgan pleaded, "It wasn't any of you, it was me!"

"No, it was me!"

"I did it!"

"Throw me in the slammer!"

"I'm the one you want!"

Robin and Lloyd were both left sweating and speechless, and the judge seemed equally flustered as he listened to the repeated confessions, "O-Order! Be quiet! Order! That is quite enough! S-Someone, stop this…! Bailiff, do something!"

"Take me!"

"I did the deed."

"Shut up, it was me!"

"Please, lock me away!"

"You imbeciles…!"

"Enough!" the judge reiterated.

"Morgan!" Robin shouted, "Please, retract this false confession you're making, can't you see it's tearing your friends apart?"

"No more than it'll tear them apart if someone is jailed on my behalf. I can't let it happen, Mr. LeBlanc, I just can't!"

"Everyone, be silent!" Lloyd commanded, "the defendant has already confessed! This trial need not proceed any longer!"

"Objection!" Robin protested, "Her confession is a false one! It's impossible for Ms. Cassidy to have committed this crime!"

"That's not true!" the redheaded girl protested, "Mr. Reed is right! I did it! I killed Ewan, so just end the trial and put me away!"

"Objection!" Robin shouted, "The defendant isn't in her right mind! She doesn't know what she's saying! We can't end this trial this way!"

"QUIET!" the judge boomed, shouting into a microphone on his bench.

Clutching their ears, the court finally fell silent.

"Mr. Reed, Mr. LeBlanc," he said, "the defendant and witnesses are obviously in a state of great agitation at the moment. As it stands, I see no way to proceed in this trial. I will suspend the trial for today, on the proviso that both counsels will calm the individuals in their charge and prepare new evidence to submit to the court when we reconvene. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, Your Honor," Robin agreed.

"Yes, Your Honor," Lloyd acquiesced, gritting his teeth.

"Very well, then this court is adjourned."

The gavel fell, and the parties vacated the courtroom.

[Turnabout of a Kind ~ Trial, Day 1-end]


	11. Turnabout of a Kind: Invest Day 2

[October 20th, 8:46 am, LeBlanc and Co. Law Offices]

Anna pushed open the door to the offices, letting some of the cool fall air trickle in from the hallway. She walked over to a huddled mass spread out on the coffee table and nudged it with her knee.

A sallow-faced Robin LeBlanc popped out from under the pile of fabric that had been covering him. "Hot damn," the redheaded secretary started upon seeing the face, "Erm, I mean, uh, are you okay, Robin?"

"I'm… fine. Just… that was kind of a rough trial."

"No kidding. You were all shaken up when you got back, too. I don't think I've ever seen you so quiet."

"She… Morgan, that is, she really doesn't want to come out against any of her friends, Anna."

"Well, I guess I understand, but I think you need to make her realize going to jail isn't worth it, even if it means saving any of her friends. I mean, think about it: odds are, one of the people she's protecting actually killed another of her friends. How can you stand up for someone like that?"

Robin's fingers tensed, bunching up around the paper he was holding and crumpling its edge.

"Hey, Robin?" Anna waved her hand in front of his face, "I'm talkin' to you, here. Didja hear what I said?"

"Hm?" he looked up, "Ah, no… sorry, I was caught up in my own little world for a second, there."

"So, you have to find some new evidence, right?" she went on, "What's the plan? Where are you going to look?"

"I'm not sure," he ran his hands through his hair, "I have at least two possibilities to consider, and I thought I could ask Ms. Verlaine if she knows anything, but…"

"But?"

"But I can't do anything unless Morgan relinquishes control of her defense back to me. So I have to pay her a visit first."

"Sheesh, it's a real mess she put you in," the redhead folded her arms, "I don't imagine it'll be easy to change her mind, either."

"I thought the same thing," the attorney agreed, "Well, the bit about her not being easy to convince, at least. Either way, though, I have to try."

"Treat her like a delicate bouquet of roses," Anna smiled, "Ladies love that."

Robin smiled back at her, laughing, "And how, exactly, do you propose I do something like that? What does that even mean?"

"I dunno," she shrugged, "it was some crap my dad used to say to my mom. Give her lots of hugs and pay for the bill at dinner, I guess."

"I'll see how that works out," he grinned, standing up.

"In all seriousness," she looked into his eyes, "She's in a difficult emotional spot right now. Be gentle with her, compassionate and empathetic, you know? She's facing the prospect of losing two out of five friends in a matter of days."

"I know," he nodded, "I have a few thoughts. Our case is sunk without her cooperation, so I'll just have to stay there until I can make her see it my way."

Anna hummed at him and went to sit back down at her desk, starting up the computer.

Robin blinked, "What did that sound mean?"

She looked back up, "I just noticed something. Well, I mean, I'd seen it before, but I only just put it together now."

"What's that?"

"That little thing you do when you're feeling determined, where you hold out your hand and clench your fist… Every time you do that, I see a certain look in your eyes that reminds me of the way Fado used to look."

Robin cracked a smile, "So, you mean you've spent a lot of time looking into my eyes?"

"Oh, stuff it," she rolled her eyes, "get lost. I got work to do."

"I'll leave you to it," he made for the door, "Thanks, Anna."

"Sure. Try not to collapse from sleep deprivation."

[October 20th, 9:38 am, Detention Center]

The detention center was relatively quiet and empty for once as Robin stepped in, nodding to the secretary, and walked up to the glass where Morgan was waiting, her eyes aimed at the floor. Robin felt a bit strange when he tried to open his mouth in the bizarre quiet of the darkened room, like speaking would shatter the otherwise sanctified silence—like it was an ill omen now. He tried to mute these thoughts and focus on the ruby-haired girl before him who was gripping the underside of her seat. The little marbles she was using to examine the carpet could barely be perceived between the long maroon strands that hung low in front of them. Robin took a deep breath and switched on the microphone, "Morgan?"

No answer.

"Ms. Cassidy?"

Silence.

"I want you to know that I understand and empathize with your decision. In your place, I might have done the same thing. But you should also know that nothing good can come of what you're doing. I know you think you're sparing your friends this way, but nobody wins in this scenario," he said, sitting down heavily in the chair across from her.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she answered with a hollow voice, "I just told the truth. I'm the murderer."

Robin shook his head, "If that's what you want to maintain, I respect it, since I no longer have a choice in the matter. However, I'd like for you to at least hear me out before you make your decision final." The girl didn't stir, which Robin assumed meant he had the liberty to proceed, "I… wasn't so far away from where you were once sitting, Morgan. I was put on trial once, too."

Her head popped up, "You? What for?"

"Murder."

[*]

Fado Verlaine was an almost impossibly tall, broad-shouldered, bearded-and-mustachioed mountain of a man—the sort of fellow you just had to look up to, physically speaking, regardless of how you felt about him. The stocky boy looking back at him was a string bean by comparison, and the way the lad quivered didn't help the matter.

"I want to tell you that I believe your story, young man," the deep voice of Fado Verlaine told him, as the man stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"Y-You do?" the boy sputtered.

The corner of Fado's mouth tugged into a smile, "Of course. It's my duty as a defense attorney to believe in my clients, and to give those with no one else to turn to an advocate."

"Is… that why you decided to help me?"

The attorney bowed his head, "Well, you're most certainly without very many people on your side, lad."

The boy's head sunk—it was true: life in the restrictive school was difficult on its own, but when he had been accused of murder with no guardian to return him to, there had been little doubt left in the minds of the Plegian police officers. They pummeled him when they spotted him around the scene, and they nearly broke his jaw so that it hurt to speak—he couldn't say a word in his own defense in his interrogation.

"I'm sorry," Fado apologized, "it was thoughtless of me to say it like that. What I mean is, everyone around you seems to have already drawn their conclusions—that's why I'm stepping in to help. See, when folks go making their mind up about something right away, like it's the most obvious decision in the world, that's when you need an attorney, because that's when they're most likely to have made a mistake. A good attorney can make people realize they've been thinking about things the wrong way since the very beginning."

"But… what mistake could they have made?"

"You didn't do it, did you?"

"No."

"Then let's start there: if you didn't kill her, then they must have made some mistake in analyzing the evidence. Why don't you look through it with me? You can help me figure out what doesn't make sense."

"All right. But how will I know?"

"I know what the police think, and you know what really happened. If you compare the two, something that they believe will have to be false. Then we just keep working backward from there until we unravel the whole case and figure out the truth."

It sounded so simple when he put it that way, and the determined creasing of his eyebrows, Robin couldn't help but to nod, "Okay… let's do it!"

[*]

"So, Mr. Verlaine agreed to help you, even though there was no other evidence supporting you?" Morgan asked, pinching her chin.

"That's right," Robin nodded, "and I would have been lost without his help."

"And I guess you must have been declared 'Not Guilty,' right? But how?"

"Why do you think I'm telling you this story, Morgan?"

She blinked a few times, then shrugged, "I don't know. Trying to inspire my confidence in you, I guess?"

"My friend betrayed me, Morgan," he stared back.

"Huh?"

"I lived at a boarding school when I was young, and I had a few friends there, but, unlike them, I didn't have a family to go back to during holidays. For a few years, I spent my days off alone in the school with a few of the teachers and the headmaster. It was only after a while that I had a few good friends willing to stick by me. I trusted all of them deeply, because they were other outcasts like me, and we pretended we were a gang of outlaws, rebelling against the system. You know, silly kid stuff. And then…"

"And then…?"

"And then, one day, I learned that trust meant nothing. Because Fado proved that it was one of my own friends who had committed the crime. And he had set me up to take the blame."

"What?! How could he be sure?"

"I protested, just like you, thinking there was no way it could be true, but then… Then I saw him. He came to my cell one day, after Fado had brought up the point in court… I remember the look in his eyes so vividly that night. 'Sorry, Robby,' he said to me, bowing his head, 'just part of the lifestyle, right?' He said it like it was nothing, like I should have been happy for him. I'd never felt that much confusion and contempt all at once."

"So what happened?"

"I vouched for him."

"What?!"

"I told the court that my friend couldn't have been guilty. Of course he couldn't—he was my friend. Surely he'd never betray me like that. It could only have been someone else."

"So… what happened after that? What did Fado do?"

"The only thing he could do, thanks to my stubbornness: he got the sentence lightened due to a lack of evidence from the prosecution, and then pleaded no contest."

"What?!" Morgan jumped, "but that means you…"

Robin nodded, "Technically, I'm a convicted murderer. In Plegia, anyway. Here, I'm just a transfer student."

"But… so… what happened to your friend?"

"He was exonerated, and I never heard from him again. All my other friends despised him for what he did, and for getting me jailed in his place. My friends were angry at me, too, for sticking up for him. 'Those who shield criminals are every bit as bad!' some of them told me. That was a dominant way of thinking in Plegia. Before long, I was back in school to finish my last few years, my original circle of friends long gone. All I could do was find some new ones and finish my education as quickly as possible, so I could leave that place."

Morgan was quiet for a few minutes, letting Robin take deep breaths, then she mewled, "Is... is that why you came here? To be a lawyer?"

Robin nodded, "Fado was the last person I ever trusted wholeheartedly. When I finished my required schooling, I wanted to go to Ylisse, where he had come from, to learn about his practice, and how I could help other people like me, and my home country."

"And you friends… they never came back to you, huh?"

"Nope. They stayed angry and bitter at one another for as long as I knew them after the trial, and now I no longer hear from them."

Morgan's head dipped down again, "I think I understand what you were trying to tell me now, Mr. LeBlanc."

"I think you do, too," he began to smile, "Good."

"Do you want to hear my decision?" she lifted her head back up and stared straight into his eyes.

"Only if you feel ready to make it," he nodded.

"I'm ready," she was sure, "Mr. LeBlanc… I'd like for you to take up my defense again."

Robin smiled fully, "Thank you, Morgan. It means a lot for me to hear you say that."

"Well, it's only because you're so convincing," she grinned back, "I want to help my friends… but more lies and deceit will never help to accomplish that. The only way to help whoever did this… to begin healing and trusting again… is to find the truth."

The attorney laughed, "You're really speaking Fado's language. If he were here, he'd say something like, 'Now, here's a good girl!' And then he'd laugh straight from his chest, like this." Robin puffed out his chest and boomed a laugh throughout the silent detention center.

Morgan giggled, "He seems like a remarkable man."

"He is," Robin beamed, "And that's why I want to follow in his footsteps more than anything. Which is why I'm going to gather more information on the crime so that we can get you found Not Guilty, all right?"

"All right!" she balled her small fists, "I'll, uh, stay here, I guess. But I'll give 'em hell if they try to question me again! I won't give up until the trial tomorrow, then I'll turn it over to you."

"Er, I can't counsel you to refuse cooperation with the police, exactly," Robin rubbed the back of his neck, "But, if you can promise me that there'll be no more false confessions, I'm willing to bet we can make this work just fine."

"Then I promise," she shouted back.

"All right, I'll see you tomorrow, then," Robin got up, gathering his things as he did so, and prepared to switch off the mic.

"Oh, and Mr. LeBlanc, before you go?" he heard.

"Hm?"

"Say 'hi' to my mom for me, please," the girl's expression softened a bit.

"Of course," he smiled again, "Until tomorrow, Morgan."

"Until tomorrow."

Robin stepped out of the detention center feeling a stirring in his heart and a particular temptation to clench his fist as a show of his resiliency. He felt so proud, but of what, exactly? He was just doing his job, so from whence did this pride come, this feeling of confidence, of righteousness? He smiled when he thought more about it: the young Robin LeBlanc had just decided to rescind his testimony.

[October 20th, 10:45 am, Verlaine Home for Children]

"Ms. Verlaine?" Robin asked, remembering his mistake and knocking loudly on the door as he entered to prevent startling her again.

"I'm here!" she shouted back from the hallway, suddenly rushing out from an obscured entryway and letting go of a vacuum, "Don't be so loud! I just put half those kids down for a nap!"

"My bad," he sighed, "Anyway, I wanted to discuss some of the case with you, if you have a minute."

She pulled her hair back and tied it off into a ponytail as he spoke. When he finished, she nodded, "That was some crazy ending to the trial. Morgan said she didn't want you to defend her anymore… what was the deal with that?"

"Well, I think she was trying to spare her friends—"

"Yeah, I know that, but why did you just stay quiet and let her?"

Robin blinked, "Did your father never tell you? In Ylissean law, a defendant has the right to assume control of their own defense during any phase of the litigation. It's rarely invoked, but it was one of the original rights listed in Ylisse's constitution, because prior to its becoming a constitutional monarchy—"

"Spare me the history lesson," she shushed him, "I just wanted to know how that worked. And why did you mention my father?"

He felt his face get hot, "I'm sorry, I just sort of assumed Fado would've taught you some things about Ylissean law…"

"Daddy didn't like to talk about work," she mused, eyes trailing to the ceiling, "He would complain to me about how boring it all was, and then we'd go watch an old movie on TV, or something. I always preferred the humanities to law in my studies."

"I see…" Robin digested the information, "It's just a bit odd to me, hearing that Fado's only child never picked up his trade… I'm…"

"Disappointed?"

"I was going to say 'surprised.'"

"Well, either way, don't be too stunned, because I'm not 'Fado's only child.'"

"How's that?"

"I have a twin brother who _did_ end up going into law: his name is Ephraim. I haven't heard from him in a good while, though. Maybe I ought to call him…"

 _Fado… There was so much going on at home that he never told me about. I guess he just didn't like for work and family to mix_. "In any case, Ms. Verlaine," Robin tried to bring himself out of his captivation, "about Morgan and her friends… do you know anything about Nino Cooper or Ross Hammond?"

Eirika Verlain laughed, "Do I? They're some of Morgan's friends, so of course I know about 'em."

"Do you think either of them might… bear a grudge against Morgan?" he hesitated.

She frowned, "No… I don't think so. I mean, they're both perfectly kind. Ross isn't the brightest bulb, but he's a real down-to-earth kid, so I don't see any reason for him to be angry at one of his friends—nor do I think he'd be smart enough to lay this kind of trap, speaking frankly."

"And Nino?"

"Nino's a bigger mystery, but she's a sweet girl, too. She's really polite around me and any other adults she sees. She's also quite competitive, and a bit of a sore loser, if we're being honest, but I can't stand to think she'd ever kill anyone out of spite. She's pretty quiet when left to her own devices, in my experience, so the idea of her going out and killing anyone sounds looney."

"Well, that's tricky. I don't suppose you know anything about their parents?"

"I only met Ross's folks once, so I'm drawing a blank there, but… Nino's I know really well—they run another orphanage on the other side of town."

"Really? Does that mean…?"

"Yep. Nino's adopted, too. Here, I'll write down the address if you wanna go chat 'em up. It's called the 'Concordia Children's' Refuge,' and the man who owns it is named Libra Concordia. His wife is Sonia."

"Thank you, Ms. Verlaine," Robin took the scrap of paper she handed him and tucked it into his pocket, "You've been very helpful, as always."

"Least I can do," she smiled, "Just remember to get this one done right, for my daddy's sake. After all, Morgan is, in a manner of speaking, his granddaughter."

"Right," the attorney swallowed, "point taken. Don't worry, I'll get all this sorted out before long."

"I have faith you will," she nodded.

[October 20th, 12:02 pm, Concordia Children's Refuge]

Robin knocked on the door gently at first, then a little louder after waiting a minute or two. He heard shuffling from behind the door along with a faint "I'm coming!" before the door finally swung open. Robin started in surprise as a wheat-haired woman with the finest features he had ever seen greeted him at the door in what appeared to be a long white robe.

"Oh!" he stammered, "I'm sorry. I hope I'm not bothering you, miss. Is this the Concordia Children's Refuge?"

The woman smiled, "Indeed, it is. And that would be 'mister,' if you do not mind."

"Beg pardon?" Robin cocked an eyebrow.

"I am Mr. Libra Concordia himself," the fair-haired figure bowed, "or Father Concordia to my children."

"Ack!" Robin jumped, "I'm so sorry, Mr. Concordia! I didn't mean anything by it!"

He laughed exactly as his appearance dictated he might, "Do not trouble yourself over it, my son. Many have made this mistake in addressing me—I inherited a great many of my mother's physical traits."

Robin now found himself blushing very brightly, "Still, my apologies. Er, and you're a priest, Mr. Concordia?"

"Quite right," he nodded, placing his hands over the Brands of the Exalt adorning his robes in a brilliant embroidered sapphire, "Though I long ago determined that the church was not my proper home. No, I am quite a bit more comfortable taking care of the disadvantaged youth of this grand city, just as another priest took care of me when I was but a babe."

"I see," Robin nodded, "That's very noble of you, Mr. Concordia. I was wondering, though… do you know a girl named Nino Cooper?"

He nodded again, "She is one of the children in my care. Is something the matter?"

"I'm afraid she's involved in a murder trial."

"Ah, yes, the trial of Morgan Cassidy and the death of her friend, Ewan Allen. I am well aware of it."

"Well, I'm the attorney defending Ms. Cassidy, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Nino, to better understand her relationship to Morgan?"

"You mean to determine if she committed the crime?"

"I… uh, didn't say that…"

Libra Concordia laughed, "Do not worry, Mr. LeBlanc. I understand your position, however, I do not believe you will find me a particularly useful resource: our little family has nothing to hide, dear Nino least of all."

"I'd still like to ask you a few things, if I may," Robin pleaded.

"Very well," the priest smiled, "do come in." He stepped out of the doorway and back toward a big dining table at the end of the hall. Robin followed him and noticed that the place looked very much the opposite of Eirika's orphanage: there were no drawings strewn about the walls, no clutter or dirt on the floor, no gaggles of children running about shouting and playing tag. Instead, the walls were practically gleaming pure white, the floors were mostly tile and undisturbed by any dirt, and the few children that Robin did see as he gazed around were sitting quietly, propped up on chairs reading holy books and dressed either in robes like Libra's or in children's formal outfits: slacks and button-up shirts for the boys and flowery dresses for the girls.

As they sat down at the dining table, Robin caught the scent of something strange that made his nose wrinkle reflexively. He didn't mean to insult the priest, but the expression showed rather clearly, and he couldn't help displaying his disgust. It smelt a bit like burnt rubber. He walked into another room, following the scent, and found himself kneeling down before the fireplace wherein he discovered what did, in fact, appear to be a scrap of rubber.

Libra must have noticed, because he also appeared behind the attorney and smiled in response to his expression, "Ah, you must be noticing it just now. A few days ago, we had an unfortunate incident wherein some ill-taught reprobate elected to toss something down into our furnace through the chimney. We believe it was either rotten eggs or sulfur, given the pungent odor. You will have to excuse us this untidy circumstance."

"Of course," Robin dismissed, "but why would someone do that to you?"

"Not all in Ylisse are fervently religious, Mr. Attorney," Libra smiled, "Some among them strongly dislike the men and women of the cloth."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Concordia," Robin frowned, "Oh, I'm sorry, did I never give you my name? I'm Robin LeBlanc, attorney at law."

"Very good, Mr. LeBlanc," the priest seated himself and invited his guest to do the same, "What would you like to ask of me?"

"First, how well do Morgan and Nino know each other?"

"Quite well. Morgan and Nino, both being adopted children, developed a bond early on in grade school. The two both excelled in their studies and frequently had the top grades in their class. Morgan grew to be a bit of a slacker in her later days, however—allowing Nino's persistence to take her to the top. They nonetheless had a certain friendly rivalry regarding grades all throughout their schooling. It's a bit sad to see it ended, honestly. Morgan always drove Nino to do so well. Without her, well… forgive me, it is irresponsible of me to speculate on her future."

"How long has Nino been in your care?"

"Since she was but a babe. She regards my wife, Sonia, as her own mother, and me as her father. She is a delightfully devoted daughter of Naga."

"Has she ever appeared to have… violent tendencies?"

Libra laughed considerably less gently, "No. Never. Nino is a wonderfully intelligent and levelheaded girl. She has never shown any propensity for violence—she knows well that wrath is a dreadful sin."

"Do you know of anyone who might have regarded Ewan Allen as an enemy?"

"I am afraid I know little of the lives of my children's acquaintances. If such a person exists, they are beyond my awareness."

 _Well, he was right. He's not giving me an inch, here. Is there really nothing that could lead to Nino's involvement? The only other possibility is Ross, so I guess I could still look into his family, but…_

Robin blinked and picked his head up as he heard heels clicking down the hallway. Before long, a woman in a long red dress with black accents that hugged her figure noticeably tight. Complementing the dress, she had long waves of black hair and curiously gold eyes. Her lipstick shone ruby-red under the gold light streaming in from the windows, and her maroon acrylic nails gave her hands a distinctively claw-like look. Robin couldn't help but spend a moment assessing her appearance.

"I didn't know we were entertaining guests today," she breathed onto Libra.

Libra swallowed, "Er, this is not a formal arrangement. This is Mr. LeBlanc, the defense attorney in the trial of Morgan Cassidy. Mr. LeBlanc, this is my wife, Sonia."

She smiled slowly in a way that made Robin want to shiver, "Ah, I'm familiar with all that. I saw it on the news. Quite a stunning end to that trial. But did not the girl assert her right to defend herself?"

"She's since changed her mind," Robin answered.

"I see," her smile ceased, "Well, I don't know what you could want with us, Mr. LeBlanc. We're but a humble pair of parents to so many lovely children."

"I'm investigating possible leads on the crime," the attorney responded, "including Nino Cooper, who is in your care."

She scoffed, "You plan on indicting our sweet little Nino in place of that low-born wretch? Honestly, you ambulance-chasers are all the same."

"Now, now," Libra squeaked.

Robin stood up, "My job is to try to get a handle on all the facts of the case. We figured out in court yesterday that it was highly unlikely that Morgan committed the crime, but the only way to prove it is to prove someone else was responsible. That means I have to consider everyone who was likely to be involved. And Nino is among the likeliest."

Sonia's smile returned and she examined her nails disinterestedly, "You certainly have some gall, speaking to me in such terms in my own home. What are you hoping to find here, a confession? My darling Nino has done nothing."

"May I speak to her?" Robin asked.

The black-haired woman looked back up, "Unfortunately, Nino is in the midst of writing some essays for college placement. It would be very rude and disruptive to disturb her now."

"I respect the importance of education, but someone's dead, Mrs. Concordia," the attorney said.

She wrinkled her nose, "Do not refer to me by that name. I am Mrs. Sonia Verdun, and you will do well to remember it."

Libra managed to choke out: "S-Sonia never took my name after our marriage. She prefers to use her own."

"Very well, Mrs. Verdun," Robin nodded, "but can't you see the importance of these questions?"

"I see nothing but a contemptible little scoundrel trying to jail my sweet child. I have no intention of letting you speak to her, to be perfectly clear: she is far too involved in her studies, and I will not allow you to ruin her very important academic pursuits," she replied.

"Doesn't she have the right to decide for herself whether or not she speaks to me?" Robin folded his arms.

Sonia paused and frowned, fiddling with her wedding ring, "Mr. LeBlanc. You appear to be laboring under the delusion that I'm interested in your works. I'm not. Right now, I consider you to be little more than a trespasser. Underestimating my willingness to act would be… unwise."

Robin stared back at her, feeling his jaw quiver a bit, "Are you… threatening me?"

"I'm telling you that you're very close to becoming _persona non grata_ in my household. Can you understand that?" she folded her arms.

The attorney felt his shoulders tense, but he did the best he could to relax them, "I do. You should also understand, however, that I don't give up easily. Just because you're shutting me out doesn't mean I won't find the truth. And when I do, you'll be in hot water for obstructing justice."

Sonia scowled fiercely and pulled a cell phone out of her bra, "Now I hear a man making threats against me inside my own home. I'm going to strongly recommend that you leave, Mr. LeBlanc."

"No recommendation needed," he huffed, "I was already on my way out."

[October 20th, 2:18 pm, Les Chevaliers Night Club]

"—honestly, what were you thinking? With the number of times I've had to cover for you, I would've thought you weren't capable of doing anything stupider, and then you go and do _this_!"

"My mind ran away from me, Kent. Surely you can understand…?"

"I understand that this club is as good as sunk thanks to your foolishness! Farina is going to have my hide if she finds out our income is gone!"

"W-Well, we're not done yet! We just need some of the bad press to clear up once the trial's over, and we'll be right as rain!"

"And how long do you think _that_ 'll take?"

"Um…"

"Fellas, can your little lovers' quarrel wait? I'm tryin' to teach this little lady how to be a proper detective, and you're screwin' it up somethin' fierce."

Robin finally stepped into view, noticing Detective Fletcher along with Neimi on one side of the room and Sain and Kent on the other. "Uh, detective," he saluted, "Mr. Cheval. Mr. Clarke."

"Great, and now the attorney who ruined our reputation is back," Kent rolled his eyes, "Haven't you done enough damage? What more do you want from us?"

"Any damage, you done to yourselves, fellas," Colm frowned and lit his cigarette.

"I'm trying to gather up some new evidence. Is there anything new you can tell me about the scene, detective?" the attorney turned to him.

Colm exhaled, "Well, damned if you weren't right about that blasted hair dye, for one thing. The other is, we managed to crack the code on our victim's cell phone, which means we got a chance to look at his calls and messages."

"Anything worth noting?"

"Not much. He didn't really call or text anyone the day of the crime except to coordinate what time they were meeting. We've got the call on record from that Morales fella, but no message, or anything. Pretty much just chats with the usual suspects, outside of that."

"Is there any way I could get a transcript of his texts, at least from the last month?"

"Huh? Not sure why you'd bother goin' that far back, but yeah, I'll get one o' the eggheads to bring you somethin' by trial time tomorrow."

"Much obliged, detective. So, how are things going with your junior, here?"

"Hey, I don't hafta take that kinda crap from no lawya!" the pink-haired girl growled back. When Robin's eyebrows jumped up in surprise, she put her hands up to cover her mouth, "I'm sorry! That's just what Detective Fletcher told me to say when I'm insulted by a lawyer."

 _Teaching her well, detective_.

Colm Fletcher laughed and slapped his knee, "Ha! J'you see the look on his face? There may be hope for you yet, Ms. Pretty in Pink."

"You think so?" she beamed.

"Sure, now, do me a favor and grill the green and red peppers over here and we'll be all set."

"Yessir! Mr. Cheval, where were you on the night of October 18th?"

"Agh! …In the club?"

"Which club?!"

"Ahh! Mine!"

Robin blinked and watched the scene play out for another minute.

"Oh, and one other thing, LeBlanc," Colm cleared his throat.

Robin faced him again, "Hm?"

"That knife that got you all wound up in the trial? Turns out it was stolen from some department store. Go figure," the detective shrugged.

"Did they have any surveillance footage of the thief?" Robin hoped.

"They did, but I wouldn't get too excited: all you can see is someone about that girl's size in one o' them school-issued jackets."

"So… no help at all, then," Robin sighed.

"Not much," the detective laughed, "I think everyone o' the witnesses has an alibi about being out there that night. You can have this copy of the photo, if ya want it."

Robin accepted it and looked over the image scrupulously, "Huh. Say, detective, doesn't something seem off about this picture? Something around the thief's head…?"

Colm checked it with an eyebrow cocked, "Nah, I think you're imagining things on account o' the shadows."

"Well, either way," Robin smiled, "I appreciate your help, detective. I had to deal with Nino's mother, Sonia Verdun, earlier today, and that was a colossal pain in the neck."

"Verdun?" the detective's brow shot up, "You talked to Verdun?"

"Uh, yeah," the attorney paused, "why?"

Colm Fletcher took another drag on his cigarette, "Forget it. Prob'ly nothing. Just be careful who you talk to, _capice_?"

"All right," Robin nodded hesitantly.

"Detective, call her off, please!" Sain cried out.

"Good gods, have some dignity!" Kent rolled his eyes.

Colm glanced at them, then his subordinate, and then at Robin, "Sorry. I gotta situation to take care of."

"Sure," Robin bowed, "thanks again, detective."

[October 20th, 4:48 pm, LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices]

Robin stepped off the elevator and walked toward the door of the office, rubbing his eyes, which were rebelling against their open state quite vigorously. He thought he might hear Anna typing away at her computer when he popped in, but the office was deadly silent. Looking around, he thought to call out for Anna.

Then he heard a mechanical click behind his neck as the door slammed shut.

"Mr. LeBlanc." Robin gasped as the slender figure of Sonia Verdun appeared from behind one of the office walls. "Fancy meeting you here. A word of advice: don't go crying for help. You'll only make your situation worse."

"You," Robin sneered, "where's Anna?"

Sonia snapped her fingers and a pair of men in suits and dark shades pulled Anna forward from behind the same wall. Her eyes were wide, her legs and hands were bound, and her mouth was sealed shut with duct tape.

"Anna!" Robin shouted, "What did they do to you?! If you hurt her, I swear, I'll…!"

"You'll what?" she smirked back, "You'll forget about the pistol aimed at the back of your head? I dare you. I'm sure your little secretary would love to see that show.

Anna tried to shout and wriggled her hands.

"Quiet, you," Sonia motioned toward her thugs, who dragged Anna back behind the wall.

"What is it you want?" Robin demanded, clenching his fist.

She smiled, "Ah, that's the million-dollar question, isn't it? Well, luckily for you, it's very simple: I want you to let this case go. Have the girl plead guilty, and I'll let the redhead live."

"Why? Why is it so important for you to see Morgan in jail?"

"This isn't about that little redheaded simpleton, you imbecile. This is to do with my daughter. And how I won't allow you to go around slandering her name. …Or mine."

"You think you can just get away with murdering Anna right in front of me? In broad daylight? With all these other people in the building?"

"We can wait until quitting time, darling. And if you refuse, I'll be happy to take both your lives."

Robin could do little more than clench his fist and stare at the floor. _What can I possibly do? If I refuse her terms, she'll kill me and Anna. If I do accept them, though, I'll be dooming Morgan. Eirika will probably never speak to me again… I'd be betraying Fado's whole legacy!_

Robin was shocked by a ruffle behind him. For a moment, he shut his eyes, thinking Sonia had given up on waiting for his answer and had decided to kill him. After a few seconds in darkness, however, he looked back up to find Sonia wearing a strained expression. He turned his head and saw Rath stepping forward, as well as the man who had been pointing a gun being dragged into the hallway.

"R-Rath?" Robin stuttered.

"Verdun, you she-rat," the mafioso smirked, "I shoulda known you'd be the one skulkin' around here."

"The young Tolstoy," she spat, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Didja think the Tolstoys wouldn't notice you makin' moves like this? Threatenin' civvies is bad form, Verdun. Then again, no one claimed you had a lot of principle to start," Rath said.

"The lawyer?" she scoffed, "He was snooping. This is an entirely private affair. Why are you getting involved?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Rath took a few steps forward, "Point is, I've got a lot more firepower waiting right outside. And I mean a _lot_ more. _Mio padre_ ain't particularly pleased by what he's seen, you operatin' in such a big, public space like this."

"What do you care about one stupid lawyer?" Sonia demanded, "I refuse to believe this is all by chance. Is he yours?"

Rath pointed his finger sharply, "Don't worry your pretty little head about it, toots. All you need to know is that you're gonna walk outta here on the count of five, and you're never gonna come back. Else you and your boys are gonna end up with a big extra dose of iron in you, get my drift?"

Sonia Verdun growled.

"One… two… three…"

With a final grunt and a twist of her heel, the black-haired woman signaled her men and walked out of the room, deliberately bumping into Robin as she did so. When she left, two men entered the room began to untie Anna.

"Rath… what are you doing here?" Robin asked, unable to move.

"Fine question to ask a guy who just saved your neck," the mafioso chuckled, "My pops noticed some o' Verdun's crew hanging around here—they use some pretty distinctive vehicles. When we found out it was where your office was, we figured somethin' fishy was goin' on."

Robin took a moment to find his breath, and then turned all the way around to face his savior, "Well… I can't thank you enough. I don't know what would've happened if you didn't show up when you did."

"Heh," he tugged on his jacket, " _Nessuna problema_. Everybody gets one, ya know? Just don't go making this a repeat problem."

"I'll do my damnedest," the attorney nodded.

Rath laughed again, "I bet you will. Oh, and this should go without saying, but not a word of this to the cops, yeah? I find out you let them on our trail and our partnership's gonna go south real quick, got me?"

"Yeah," Robin breathed, "no worries."

"All right. I can't linger with this many guys, so I'm gonna take off, then," Rath turned around and walked out the door, "Keep your eyes peeled, all right? Never know who might be waitin' just behind your door… Hahaha!"

The shock gradually wearing off, Robin jumped to the corner of the room, where he found Anna propped up on a chair, "Oh, gods! Anna, are you all right?! Please tell me they didn't hurt you!"

"I'm… okay," she sighed, flexing her wrists, "Those clowns were rough, but it was nothing I couldn't handle."

He stared at her for a moment, then dropped his head, "I'm… so sorry, Anna. I put you in this danger. I'd understand if you… no longer want to work here."

She snickered, then laughed out loud.

Robin's glassy eyes looked back up, "What? What's so funny?"

"Haha!" she giggled, "You think a mob kidnapping is enough to scare me? Oh, gods, if I had a nickel!"

Robin rubbed his temples, "You mean… this has happened before?"

"Oh, gods yes," she was still chuckling, "Do you know how many organized criminals wanted revenge against Fado?"

Robin stared straight ahead and said nothing.

Anna smiled, "Still, it was cute to see how broken up you were. I'm glad to see you care that much about me, Boss."

"I… think I need to lay down," Robin sputtered, doing just that on the nearby sofa.

"I'll get you some cold water," Anna hummed as she went into the kitchen.

[Turnabout of a Kind ~ Investigation Day 2-End]


	12. Turnabout of a Kind: Trial Day 2

[October 21st, 9:52 am, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 4]

"Do you remember everything you need to say to the judge?" Robin LeBlanc asked, ordering the small stack of papers, "If not, we can go over it again."

"No, I think I've got it," answered his client, smiling and balling her small fists, "I'm ready to let the whole truth come to light, Mr. LeBlanc."

He nodded, "That's great to hear, Morgan. Your cooperation means everything."

"Can I… can I stand by you at the bench again?" she pressed her fingers together.

"Sure," the attorney nodded, "you were a big help last time. I could use you up there, keeping me focused."

"Yes!" she grinned, "Er, I mean… thank you, Mr. LeBlanc. …Also, yes!"

"The trial will reconvene in five minutes," announced the bailiff, staring right at the young attorney, "Please be ready to enter the courtroom at that time."

"Are we all set, Mr. LeBlanc?" Morgan wondered.

"I think so. I just need to make a quick call," Robin answered, pulling out his cell phone.

The phone rang twice before picking up, "Robin?"

"Hi, Anna," he greeted, "how are things at the office?"

"They're fine, just like they were an hour ago when you left, Robin. And like when you called me half an hour ago," she said, her eye-roll practically audible through the phone.

"Can you blame me for being a little… nervous?"

"Nervous, no. Paranoid, yes. I'll be fine, Robin. Concentrate on the trial, on saving that girl, okay?

"Okay. Call me if anything happens, though, okay?"

"All right, just chill out."

She hung up. Robin sighed. Whether from relief or exasperation he wasn't sure.

"What was that about?" Morgan tapped a finger on her chin.

"Oh, we had a little scare with a burglar. Nothing serious," he downplayed.

 _Something is deeply wrong with this trial. Between this circle of friends, one of whom lied to the others and murdered another of them, and that woman… what was she so afraid of me finding? I can't be certain, but the best way to answer all those questions is surely to move forward and uncover what really happened in this case. That's all I can do._

"Mr. LeBlanc," he heard Morgan beckoning him, "the bailiff is summoning us."

"All right," he got up, "let's get it done."

[October 21st, 10:01 am, District Court-Courtroom No. 4]

The judge cleared his throat and adjusted a pair of reading glasses that were sitting on the bridge of his nose. He called out, "Order, please. This court will now reconvene for the trial of Morgan Cassidy. As I recall, Ms. Cassidy, this trial had to be halted because you rescinded Mr. LeBlanc's control of your defense and made a confession. How do you plan to proceed?"

"Your Honor," she took a deep breath, "following the events of yesterday's trial, I realized that my actions were rash and misguided, and my confession a false one. Fearful of victimizing one of my friends, I made a false confession in order to save them. I have since realized that this was a mistake: obfuscating the truth in such a manner will ensure nothing but a failure of our legal system, and so I ask for my own remarks to be stricken from the record, on the grounds that they were made under duress, and I hereafter relinquish control of my defense to the very capable Mr. Robin LeBlanc."

"Tsk," Lloyd Reed shook his head, "Congrats on teaching your little lapdog to talk, LeBlanc. Unfortunately, the fact that you'll be defending her again will do nothing to save her. This trial is as good as decided, and you know it full well. Why not spare yourself the trouble?"

Robin shook his head, "Taunt me as much as you like, Prosecutor Reed. My objective today is to use the evidence I've uncovered to set this innocent girl free, nothing less."

Lloyd shut his eyes, "My, but you are a stubborn cur."

"In that case," said the judge, stroking his beard, "I believe we have no choice but to continue the trial where it left off, meaning we're left with five confessions, one of which has just now been stricken from the record. How can we proceed with four competing confessions?"

"We discard them from the record, just like the defendant's," Lloyd folded his arms, "They were all made under similar circumstances for similar reasons. As such, there's no need to consider any of them as factually accurate."

The judge nodded, "That does seem a fairly logical conclusion. Do you have any contention with the prosecution's proposition, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Actually, I do," he nodded.

Lloyd frowned, "Don't be a contrarian, LeBlanc. Just because it's my idea doesn't mean it's a bad one. Surely you must see that this is the only way we can proceed with the trial."

The attorney shook his head, "I disagree. If the prosecution made one thing abundantly clear in its arguments the other day, it's that the murderer of Ewan Allen could only be one of the members of his circle of friends, all of whom are the deliverers of our remaining confessions."

"Excepting the defendant, who just now withdrew hers, so we can assume the rest are all junk," Lloyd sighed.

"Not so," Robin corrected him, "If we take as a given that the murderer was one of Allen's friends, then it stands to reason that someone's confession will ring of truth, while the others can all be dismissed as false."

"And what if they can all be disproven?" Lloyd stared at his opposing counsel, "Then you'd have no choice but to admit that the defendant is the only one who could've committed the murder."

"If it comes to that," Robin nodded slowly, "it may be necessary for me to reevaluate my options, but I'm fairly confident that one of these confessions will have to offer us the truth. As such, I would like to ask all of the confessors to testify so that the court can determine the veracity of their claims."

Robin looked over and saw Morgan frowning, "…'Fairly certain,' Mr. LeBlanc? You know this is my whole life we're talking about, here, right?"

"I don't want to seem overconfident to the court, Morgan," he whispered, "Juries hate that. Humility in self-presentation is always the way to go."

"Hm," she faced the front of the court, "I guess. Just please don't go saying anything you're not sure of."

"Oh, I won't," he sighed. _I'm glad she bought that_.

"All right, Mr. LeBlanc, if that's the angle you're going after, then it's your funeral," the Lloyd shrugged, "The prosecution has no objections to the defense's plan of action, Your Honor."

"Very well," the judge rapped his gavel off the desk, "So long as both counsels are in agreement, I see no reason not to proceed. Bailiff, would you please bring the witnesses to the stand?"

Robin fiddled with a few papers on his desk, trying to look busy. Mostly, he grabbed at and dog-eared the corners of the pages without even really glancing at the text upon them. He didn't notice Morgan, who continued to stare straight ahead as all of her friends were brought to the stage. Lloyd remained silent, bordering on disinterest as the colorful group was paraded up to the stand. The only thing that betrayed his illusion of aloofness was the way he tugged on the inside of his sleeve when his arms were folded.

"Now then," the judge declared, looking them over, "You all have delivered a confession to this court. That means that most or all of you must necessarily be telling the court a falsehood, for which you will pay a penalty to be determined later, unless you elect to recant your confession now, before the trial proceeds, in which case, you will not be charged. With that in mind, would any of you like to step down?"

Heads and hands fidgeted, but none of the teenagers at the stand spoke a word.

"Very well," the judge sighed, "We will be forced, then, to have each of you deliver your testimony to the court, whereupon you will be cross-examined by Mr. LeBlanc. Do you understand?"

The group nodded.

"All right, then. Each of you, please step up and give the court your name and occupation, as well as your confession in significant detail," said the judge, sitting back and interlacing his fingers.

"Greetings, ladies and gentlemen of the court," the first young man to come forward did so with a glittering smile, "My name is Inigo Morales, and, as you may recall, I was on the stage at the time of the crime. Or so I would have you believe, haha! In truth, it was I who murdered Ewan. When I seemed to disappear from the stage, forestalling the performance, it was because I was in the restroom killing Ewan. I despised him for embarrassing me with his prominent academic performance. Try though I may to win over the ladies, I was always subverted by Ewan's innocence and intellect, damn him. Please, take me to prison."

"Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge turned ever so slightly.

"You're lying, Mr. Morales," Robin shook his head, "I spoke with Detective Fletcher yesterday. He told me that the police had managed to figure out the passcode to Ewan's phone, and when they did, they found a record of your call to him. There would be no need for you to call the victim if you planned to kill him, especially since yesterday you testified that you had done so to see how he was enjoying the performance."

"No, no," he stuttered, "Y-You see, that was but another example of my malfeasance! In truth, I called him while I waited in the bathroom to ensure that I knew it was he who entered when I heard him."

"But then you would have needed precise knowledge of when he was going to enter, or you would have made several other calls when other people entered the restroom. That, and you testified about seeing the victim enter the restroom the other day. These claims cannot be mutually correct."

Inigo frowned, "I… suppose I have no choice. Indeed, it is as you say, Mr. LeBlanc. I am not Ewan Allen's murderer… I was on-stage at the time of the crime, as my earlier testimony describes. I have nothing to say in my defense but that I care for my friends deeply."

"That will be all, Mr. Morales," Robin sighed, "I believe you can step down for now."

"It seems there may be some merit to the defense's method after all, wouldn't you say, Prosecutor Reed?" the judge observed.

Lloyd rolled his eyes, "Don't get too excited on his behalf, Your Honor. Anyone with half a brain could guess that Inigo Morales was innocent: he's the only one of the group who has an unimpeachable alibi."

"Shall we move on, Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge's eyes flicked back.

"Yes," he nodded, "let's."

Cath Nichols came forward next, announcing her name and her unemployment while stroking a few locks of ginger hair out of her face. "I hated Ewan because he spread some gross rumors about me to some people I didn't like. I waited in the men's bathroom for a while, and when I heard him come in, I jumped him and put him down."

"What do you think, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Ms. Nichols, why would you leave hair dye in the sink if your hair is already red like the defendant's?"

"It's not the same shade. I had to fix it up a bit like that in order to frame her."

"These rumors that Mr. Allen spread, to whom did he spread them, and what were they, generally?"

"Uh, he told… some girls that I was… that I hit for both teams. That's all."

"'Some girls,' you say? Can you tell me which ones?"

"What's it to you?"

"We now have Mr. Ewan's phone records, if you'll recall. If you tell me when the rumors were spread and to whom, I can verify it via his texts or calls."

"Uh… look, that stuff's not important, all right? Fact o' the matter is, I waited in the men's room and killed Ewan when he showed up."

"So then, how did Morgan's fingerprints get on the murder weapon instead of yours?"

"E-Easy, I just wiped 'em off and had her grab the knife afterward."

"Ms. Cassidy, did you ever take hold of a knife given to you by Ms. Nichols that evening?"

"No, sir."

"Ms. Nichols, if the defendant had done what you described, don't you think it would have been among the first things she said in her defense?"

"I-I dunno! She coulda said a lot of things!"

"Ms. Nichols. If you wanted to implicate Ms. Cassidy of the crime, then why would you be confessing right now?"

"I… changed my mind?"

"Was the jacket found discarded in the trash near the restroom yours?"

"Um…"

"Let me put it this way: if we looked in your closet at home, would we find something that makes your story incongruous with the facts of the case?"

"Argh! Awright, fine! Shaddap already! So I didn't do it! I lied 'cause I wanted to keep my friends safe. There, ya happy, you bastard?"

"A little," Robin smiled.

"Morgan," Cath glared at her, "Why are you doing this? We're all thick as thieves, aren't we?"

Morgan shook her head, "Sorry, Cath, but no one is ever going to be happy about how this turns out until we find out who's really responsible. If we figure out who did it, then maybe we can start to forgive them, but if we don't, there's always going to be some kind of doubt, and I won't let it be like that." Cath frowned and left the stand.

 _Two down, two to go_.

"Prosecutor Reed," the judge cleared his throat, "you're being awfully quiet. Don't you have anything to say?"

"Not until the attorney presents something substantial," Lloyd shrugged, "Right now, Mr. LeBlanc is just narrowing the suspect list, like I did before this trial even started. There's no point in deliberating so long as he's reaching the same conclusions I did."

 _Reed backing off? I never thought I'd see the day. Well, all the same, best not to miss my chance. I can get this trial really going firmly in my favor if I make my point clear right here, right now. The only confessions left come from Ross and Nino, and, knowing what I know now… My experience leads me to conclude that there's only one real candidate left, meaning I have to find a way to disprove one's alibi while simultaneously proving the other's. Here goes nothing…_

"Mr. Ross Hammond," Robin lifted his head, "would you come forward next, please?"

"Sure," he grinned, "if it'll get this over quicker."

"Name and occupation for the record," Lloyd droned.

"I'm Ross Hammond, and I'm an apprentice carpenter, working for my old man! I'm gonna learn his secrets and be the best carpenter this world's ever seen. …After I finish trade school, that is," the boy said, thumbing at himself intermittently.

"Your testimony, if you please, Mr. Hammond," the judge extended his hand.

"Righto," he smiled, "See here: I was really ticked at ol' Ewan 'cause he was so much smarter than me! Damn if I wasn't jealous o' that guy—like Ini said, the ladies were all over him 'cause he was so sweet and smart and innocent. Er, not that I'd know about that, o'course. I was just really mad. So when we were waiting for Ini's show to start back up, I took a little trip to the ol' crapper to take care of him, once and for all."

"I'm sorry," Robin blinked, "'Ini?'"

"Yeah, that's what I call Mr. Dancer over here," Ross grinned, "Ini-meenie-miney-Inigo! Get it? Haha!"

"R-Right," Robin stuttered, "Uh, in any case, I'll ask you the same question I asked Ms. Nichols: how can you explain the defendant's—er, Morgan's fingerprints being on the weapon?"

"Aw, that's easy. My pops knows a buncha metalworkers. He has a whole pile o' metal stuff that he's gotten as gifts from them, including silverware. I took one of the knives he had lyin' around and showed it to Morgan once, and then, thinking of that, I decided to use it to kill Ewan and frame her. But now I've decided I ain't happy with lyin' about it anymore if it's gonna put Morgan or anyone else in jail."

"Your flippant motives aside," Robin sighed, "The detective told us in the previous trial that the knife was of very common make and could have come from anywhere."

"Well, just 'cause it was a gift don't mean it was completely unique," the boy folded his arms.

"So… this unnamed metalworker gifted your father an incredibly common knife that he could have bought himself for next to nothing?"

"Hey! Don't insult my pop's friends! Sure, it was common, but it was hand-made and delivered straight to him, so it was special! Like that time I made a wooden clock in shop—sure, my pops coulda bought one just like it, but it wouldn't be the same, ya know?"

 _I know it feels like we're losing the plot fast_. "I… suppose I see your point," Robin frowned, "Still, I'd like to draw the court's attention to this photo, recovered between trials by the police, that clearly shows the theft of a similar knife being conducted by someone in your school-issued jacket—"

"Objection!" The court faced Lloyd Reed. He shook his head, "I was wondering how long it'd take for you to bring that up. As you can see, the individual in that photograph has very little in the way of distinguishing physical features: their face is totally obscured, and being that the photo is in black and white, there is really nothing that can be gleaned from it, aside from their clothing, which is proof of nothing."

"W-Well," Robin rebutted, considerably thrown off by his opponent's sudden interruption, "still, isn't there something to be said for the person's head? Look at the photo and you'll see there's something off about it."

"I see nothing," Lloyd shook his head, "except that this person seems to have dark hair, much like our excitable witness, here. I don't suppose it's he who you've decided to blame for Ms. Cassidy's crime, is it?"

Robin paused. _Could it really be? Doesn't this photo give me any other information? Looking over the evidence, I already had my conclusion, but… there's definitely something curious about this photo, I just know there is. If Ross is the one who stole the knife, though… Damn. I'm this close, but there's some piece of the puzzle that's eluding me. There must be some way I can resolve all this._

"Mr. LeBlanc," Morgan whispered.

Robin turned to face her, "Do you have a thought, Morgan?"

"Not exactly, just kind of a hunch," she admitted, "I think you're right about the person's head looking off—it seems, I dunno, too smooth."

"You think it was someone bald?" he guessed.

She shook her head, "No, not like that… I don't know, maybe it's not hair we're looking at?"

"That's a possibility," Robin nodded, "but I'm not sure if—"

"Your Honor," everyone in the court looked up. Nino Cooper was staring back at them, "I'm afraid I have to recant my confession. Looking at all that happened… there can be no doubting it. The person in that photo is Ross. He's the one who stole that knife and used it to kill Ewan, and then he somehow got Morgan's prints on it in order to frame her. I'm sorry it had to be like this, Ross, but you made your choice."

"N-Nino…" the boy stammered, "What?"

"I'm sorry," tears began to pool in the girl's eyes, "can I leave now? I… I can't watch this anymore."

"No objections," Lloyd shrugged.

"Yes, I believe you've had quite enough heartache for one lifetime, young lady. With the defense's permission, I'll let you return to the lobby so that you can call your parents and rest a bit."

"Objection," Robin declared.

"W-What?" Nino whipped her head around to him, as did Morgan.

Lloyd scowled, "What's your game now, LeBlanc?"

"I'm afraid Ms. Cooper's allegations don't hold water," he shook his head. "Mr. Hammond's confession can be disproven if we ask his father to identify the knife, or if he will tell us the name of the metalworker who supposedly gifted his father the knife. In either case, failure to prove that story would mean that Mr. Hammond's confession is false, in which case, only one conclusion remains."

"You…" Nino Cooper covered her mouth with her open palm, "You wouldn't!"

He nodded, "I will. Your Honor, the defense would like to formally indict Nino Cooper for the murder of Ewan Allen."

The gallery erupted into whispers for a minute before the judge called for order a few times and the court settled down.

"Objection," Lloyd rolled his eyes, "on what evidence do you base this accusation?"

Robin pulled out the photo, "This photograph, of course."

"Objection!" the prosecutor shouted again, "We _just_ went over this: the only thing that photo proves is that someone with dark hair wearing a jacket like that of the defendant and victim entered the store and appeared to have stolen the knife."

"Objection!" Robin answered, "I was wondering what was bothering me about this photo for a long time, and then it finally hit me: you've made a critically false assumption about this photo, Mr. Reed."

"And what's that?" he growled.

"The thing that you're referring to as the person's hair… it isn't really hair at all," Robin smirked, "It's a hairband—exactly like the one Ms. Nino Cooper is wearing!"

"What?!" Lloyd collapsed onto his desk.

"Hm," the judge brought his reading glasses back to his face, "Upon further inspection, this does look too smooth and defined to be hair."

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "You can't prove the one in the photo was Ms. Cooper, however! You can only prove that someone who was wearing a dark hairband and a school jacket that day is being depicted."

"That's true," Robin nodded, "but tell me, Mr. Reed: how many of our witnesses can fit that description? You can rule out Inigo and Ross straight away, and we already have a myriad of reasons to doubt that either Morgan or Cath committed the crime, so there's no reason they'd have stolen the knife. Besides, isn't it a bit suspicious that Ms. Cooper decided to recant her confession only when the photo was brought up?"

"That's only speculation," the prosecutor dismissed, "you have no evidence directly linking Ms. Cooper to the crime."

"I believe I do," Robin shook his head, "but I've already succeeded in my primary purpose: this court can now be certain that only one of these confessions could possibly be true."

Lloyd pounded his desk, "D-Dammit!"

"But…!" Nino protested, "But I recanted my confession! Doesn't that mean that they all turned out to be false?"

The attorney shook his head again, "No, because I never had a chance to examine your confession—you're the only one who backed down early. In point of fact, Ms. Cooper, in recanting your confession, you've made yourself the only remaining suspect in this case!"

"Wh-What?!" she clenched her fists, "J-Judge! Tell him that's not true!"

"I'm afraid I find Mr. LeBlanc's reasoning to be entirely sound," said the judge.

"Huh? P-Prosecutor, say something! He's violating your terms, isn't he?" she demanded.

Lloyd Reed triangulated his posture on the girl, "He would have, if you hadn't opened your fool mouth. You've made your bed here, girl. I will continue to argue against your guilt, but I cannot refute Mr. LeBlanc's reasoning."

"H-Huh? What?" she looked around the room, "Th-This isn't right. Someone stop this sham of a trial!"

"Be silent!" Lloyd Reed struck Nino's mouth closed with his voice, "There's no use in raving like this anymore, you imbecile. If you want to halt the attorney in his tracks, then you need to testify. If your confession was false, then you must have an alibi, no? Tell the court about that."

"Ah!" she calmed down and glared at Robin, "R-Right. I do. Yes, of course." The girl began smiling and folded her arms, "I have an alibi, and I'll be happy to testify to it."

"Very well," the judge nodded, "Any objections, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Not at this time, Your Honor," he replied.

"All right then," the judge swung his gavel, "Ms. Cooper, you may begin your testimony when you are ready."

Robin looked to his side. Morgan's eyes were wide as she leaned well over the defense bench.

"F-Fine," the girl grunted, "You want to accuse me of Ewan's murder? Ha! I never had a chance to kill him. I certainly never went into the men's room during the performance. Moreover, all of the evidence points away from me. Morgan has blood on her jacket, I don't. Morgan's prints were on the murder weapon, mine weren't. The simple fact is, there's absolutely no way I could have murdered Ewan, and on top of all that, why would I want to? Ewan was my friend! So, there you go: no motive, no means, no opportunity. How can you possibly accuse me now?"

"Thank you for your well-explained testimony, Ms. Cooper," the judge nodded.

"Indeed. Good work, lass," Lloyd complimented, "If you had been this smart before, we wouldn't even have this problem."

 _Leave it to Lloyd to lay on the backhanded compliments. Either way, I've got all the pieces now, including a suspect. All that's left to do is figure out how they fit together…_ "Ms. Cooper," Robin began, "you claim you couldn't have ever gone into the men's room. But if it wasn't you who entered the room, who could've placed that hair dye in the restroom? Remember, we proved in the last trial that it could only have been placed in the sink after the victim was killed, and only the killer could have left it there."

"W-Well, then it had to be Morgan," Nino answered.

"Why would Ms. Cassidy bring red hair dye into the bathroom and use it after the murder?" Robin tapped his forehead.

"I don't know, maybe it isn't her natural color!" the girl scoffed.

"Objection!" Robin turned around and saw Morgan's face becoming as red as her hair, "J-Just what are you implying? My hair's been this red since the day I was born! I have the baby pictures to prove it! Don't you dare impugn the honor of my perfectly beautiful ruby hair!"

"Either way," Lloyd interrupted her, "it's not the witness's job to disprove the defense's reasoning. You're the one who should be showing the court some evidence, Mr. LeBlanc."

"But the only reason that dye could be there is to frame Morgan!" Robin slapped his desk.

"Prove it," Lloyd shook his head.

"Argh," Robin scowled.

"What's the matter, Mr. LeBlanc?" Morgan tapped her finger on her chin, "You're going to refute that lie about me dyeing my hair, right?"

"That's… not really the crux of the issue here, Morgan. What is important, though, is that I don't have enough evidence to say for sure that Nino used that hair dye," he sighed.

"Well, why not try picking apart something else?" the girl shrugged, "She's lying, so there'll have to be cracks in there somewhere, right? And once you break through one, the others will all get deeper."

"Right," Robin stood back up and pondered a bit, _If Nino tried to frame Morgan, she did a bang-up job of it. There's evidence pointing to Morgan left and right, but that means there should be other places where we can find evidence of her involvement. …Wait, that's it! Could that explain…?_ "Ms. Cooper," Robin took a deep breath, "I want to remind you of some testimony you made in the previous trial. You told us that Morgan and Ewan had gotten into a fight because Morgan had been spreading a rumor that Ewan was gay, is that true?"

"Yeah… so?"

"So, interestingly, all your friends seemed to know very little about that rumor, other than the fact that they'd heard about it from Ewan or you. In fact, both Inigo and Ross testified that Ewan was quite popular with women."

Lloyd growled, "Oh, you are _not_ proposing what I think you're proposing…!"

"Looking back through Ewan's texts, we can see that you were also the first person to mention this rumor to him. And if we examine Morgan's texts…"

"N-N-No…!" Nino cringed, shutting her eyes.

"I'm confused, Mr. LeBlanc," the judge admitted, "What, exactly, are you suggesting?"

"Put simply," Robin smirked, "I believe there was no rumor regarding Mr. Allen's homosexuality, least of all one started by my client. Rather, I submit that the witness invented the rumor in order to make Mr. Allen and Ms. Cassidy come into conflict with one another!"

"No!" Nino shouted, slipping and falling back. She rubbed her head as she stood up.

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "And just why does the defense think she would do something like that?"

"Why, to frame Ms. Cassidy for murder, of course," Robin grinned.

"Insanity!" Lloyd grunted, "That conflict occurred at least a week before the murder!"

Robin nodded, "Yes, meaning that Ms. Cooper premeditated her murder plan."

"And can you provide proof that Ms. Cooper arranged this conflict to frame the defendant?" the prosecutor went on.

"Ms. Cassidy," Robin turned to face her, "Do you remember physically assaulting the victim in the argument you had?"

"N-Not exactly. Things got heated, and then we got up in each other's faces, and then Nino tried to calm us both down… Ah! Do you think…?"

"So what if she doesn't remember?" Lloyd pounded a fist on his desk, "The defendant could easily be lying. This is no proof of anything!"

"Ms. Cassidy, are you right- or left-handed?"

"Uh, right-handed."

"And you were facing Ewan Allen head-on in this confrontation, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, then why don't we check Mr. Allen's medical records?" Robin smirked, "If the defendant really did attack him and break his nose, as was claimed, then the greatest damage should be to his left nostril or right down the center of his nose, correct? That's where a right hook from the defendant would've hit."

"Argh!" Lloyd cursed.

"Th-This is stupid!" Nino cried.

 _This is it! I can't believe it! After all this time, I've finally got the means to put the nail in the coffin of this case._ "Furthermore," Robin held up one of his papers and offered it demonstrably, "If the defense's theory is correct and it was Nino Cooper who actually assaulted the victim, it would explain that all-too-perfect imperceptible smear of the victim's blood on Morgan's jacket: the dark fabric meant that Morgan failed to notice she was wearing evidence of a crime the very night that one would be committed!"

"Objection!" came a shout from over at the prosecution's bench, "That's quite enough of your sensationalism, Mr. LeBlanc. I grow very weary of your theatrics. You've done a lot of speculating for this court, and we're all very impressed, but you're still missing some very important details. In case you forgot, the witness already enumerated them for you: motive, means, and opportunity, defense. You haven't explained a single one—you've merely show that the witness might have help direct suspicion onto the defense."

"But why else would she—"

"Be silent!" Lloyd looked ready to fly over to the defense bench and lop Robin's head off, "It makes no difference. Your duty now is to give the court a plausible explanation for the involvement of another party which exonerates the defendant—no less. If you cannot prove that the witness had some way to kill the victim, then this trial is over!"

"S-Shoot…!" Robin doubled over, "How can I prove that when everything's been hidden so well…?"

"I'm afraid I must agree with Prosecutor Reed, Mr. Leblanc," the judge stroked his beard, "The whole point of suspending this trial was to give both counsels time to prepare their evidence. If you planned to indict Ms. Cooper, you must have evidence to support that claim. Do you have such evidence?"

"Erm, of course I do, Your Honor," Robin nodded. _At least, I sure as hell hope I do. Otherwise, I'm as good as sunk!_

"What do you think, Mr. LeBlanc?" Morgan was balling her fists with determination as she stared at him.

"Honestly… I'm not sure where to go," the attorney admitted, "Nino has been very clever. There's a lot about this case that's really ambiguous—I'm sure that something is wrong, but I just can't say for sure who or what is responsible. There must be something that has only one point of contact in this case, something that could only possibly lead to one person…"

"Something that could only lead to one person, huh?" Morgan looked to the ceiling and stroked her chin, "I don't know, I'm drawing a blank."

Robin's eyes widened for a moment, then he looked back to Morgan, "Ross's talking about his father receiving gifts… It gave me an idea. Didn't you mention something special you gave Nino way back when I first questioned you?"

"Huh?" Morgan blinked, "Something special? You're being too vague, Mr. LeBlanc—I don't know what you mean."

"Think, Morgan," Robin encouraged her, "you told me you gave Nino something that only you could give her, isn't that right?"

"But I didn't give her any presents, unless… Oh. Oh! OH!" she shouted.

"Ahem!" the judge coughed, "If the defense is quite finished filling the air with its outbursts, perhaps in could instead fill it with evidence."

"Yes, Your Honor," Robin nodded, "The evidence that proves that Nino Cooper could have murdered Ewan Allen… is not in the defense's possession."

"Hah!" Lloyd shouted with extreme felicity, "I knew it! So ends the reign of the great attorney Robin LeBlanc! Don't be too broken up, Mr. LeBlanc—it happens to all lawyers eventually. In fact, you should be glad to get your first loss out of the way early."

"Let me finish, Mr. Reed," Robin squared his shoulders against his opponent, "The evidence isn't in the defense's possession, because it belongs to the witness!"

"W-What?!" Lloyd doubled over onto his desk.

Robin smirked, "I give Ms. Cooper credit: she did an immaculate job of tying up the loose ends, or, otherwise, leaving them loose enough that they don't point to anyone in particular. She's finally met her match, however, because I know there is one item in her possession that solves one of the biggest points of contention in this whole case!"

"And just what is that, you arrogant attorney?" the green-haired girl scowled at him.

"The cast you made of all your friends' hands," Robin folded his arms.

"W-W-What?!" she slipped and fell once more. Upon standing, her hair was in disarray and all semblance of composure had vanished from her face, "How did you know about that?! Uh, I mean—oops!"

"Oops, indeed," Robin continued, "Ms. Cassidy told me that a week before the performance, you had her and all of your friends make plaster casts of their hands as a way to remember them. From such a detailed replica, you could have easily copied the defendant's fingerprints, and then used them on a pair of specialized gloves while handling the murder weapon, which would explain why Morgan's prints weren't on the door but were on the weapon, and, more importantly, would isolate you as the one and only person as being capable of making them!"

"Ahhhh!" Nino shriveled and hid herself.

"Objection!" Lloyd shouted, "The mere possibility is not sufficient evidence, Mr. LeBlanc. How can you possibly prove that Ms. Cooper used such gloves?"

"Unfortunately, that evidence cannot be shown," Robin shook his head.

"As I thought, now, will you stop your jabbering and—"

"You really must let me finish my sentences," Robin thrust out his index finger, "The gloves cannot be entered into evidence because the witness disposed of them in her fireplace!"

"H-How's that?!" Lloyd grunted.

"I visited the witness's home when I was looking for more information, and there I smelled a strange odor. When I investigated the scent, the house's caretaker, Mr. Libra Concordia, told me that pranksters had thrown rotten eggs or sulfur into his chimney. If that was the case, however, then the material should have burned up and the smell should have been reduced. Upon further investigation, I found a scrap of rubber in the fireplace, accounting for the smell, and the appearance of our mystery prankster: Mr. Concordia never would have conceived that one of his own children would be the cause!"

"Th-That's not truuuuuuuuue!" Nino squirmed.

"Oh no?" Robin smirked, "Then, tell me, Ms. Cooper: where else could the rubber have come from?"

"I… I don't," she was grinding her teeth, "It must have… ooh!"

Robin folded his arms, "When you saw Morgan go to the bathroom, you left, too—no one could account for your whereabouts at the time because all eyes were on stage, right? So you went to the men's room while Morgan looked around and lay in wait for Mr. Allen. When he came in, you leapt out, surprised him with the knife while wearing the gloves, and then killed him. Afterward, you used the hair dye to make your illusion complete, catching Inigo's attention and then ducking out of the club before your crime was discovered. You returned home, washed out the dye, burned the gloves, and then returned to the club to make it appear as though you had never left while everyone was distracted with the discovery of the body! Isn't that the truth?!"

"S-S-Stooooooooooop!" she wailed.

"W-Wait just a minute!" Lloyd snarled, "This… this is all mere conjecture! Why in the _world_ would Ms. Cooper kill one of her friends and blame another? It makes no sense whatsoever!"

Robin nodded, "It took me a while to discern that one, too, but I think I have a satisfactory answer." The attorney held up a photograph.

"Is that… the photo of the victim's circle of friends that was found in his jacket pocket?" the judge blinked.

"That's right," said Robin, "Recalling the statements of all of the victim's friends, something occurred to me: the only one of them who didn't have plans after leaving school was Nino Cooper, the most educationally successful one of them all—now, how does that make any sense?"

"H-Hey!" the girl shouted, "You leave my grades outta this, lawyer!"

"My next clue," Robin went on, unperturbed, "came when I visited the witness's home. Her mother, Mrs. Sonia Verdun is a very… competitive woman, and she's especially concerned with her daughter and her performance. She's so strict, in fact, that we might reasonably expect that it affected her daughter's social life."

"Where is this going, you fool?!" Lloyd was practically foaming at the mouth.

Robin took another deep breath and looked Nino straight in the eyes, "Nino. Tell the court the truth: you were scared your only friends would leave you, so you killed Ewan to make sure they would all stay together, didn't you?"

"Of all the ridiculous!" Lloyd punched his desk, "Unsubstantiated! Ham-fisted! _Insulting_ explanations I've ever heard!"

"…Yes," Nino sobbed.

"Wh-Wh-Wh-WHAAAAAAAAAT?!" Lloyd's eyes ballooned and he stumbled back, clutching his chest.

Nino pulled her hairband down and let her locks flow forward. Some of the curly bangs that dropped down were orange and yellow, hurriedly tucked behind her ears and into her 'do. As she sobbed, she held up a crumpled copy of the same photo that had been brought into evidence. "Everything Mr. LeBlanc has said is true. I… I can't hide it any longer. My mother… she pushed me so hard, and I was scared… I… didn't know what I was doing, but I didn't want my friends to leave. I thought… maybe a tragedy could make them all stay. At first, I thought I'd kill Morgan for all the trouble she gave me—not even trying and getting grades almost as high as me, how dare she! But… then I realized that everyone would blame me if I did that, so I made a new plan: I would kill another of our friends and blame it on her, that way everyone left would despise her and stay close with me."

"This is… unbelievable," the judge remarked.

"I took the casts of everyone's hands," Nino went on, "and, well, you heard the rest from Mr. LeBlanc. I killed Ewan, planting Morgan's prints on the knife, then took off his jacket and threw it in the trash… I did everything I could to implicate Morgan. But I guess I failed."

Morgan sniffled, "Nino… why didn't you just talk to us? We could have fixed this? It didn't have to end up like… this."

"Morgan…" the green-haired girl stared back at her, "I know these words mean nothing now, but, for whatever little it's worth, at least for my own sake, I have to say, I'm sorry. I was so frightened, and I didn't want my mother to ruin all that we had together, all of us. I just felt like there was nowhere I could turn."

The judge shook his head, "Well, I think we can safely say that this trial has reached its end. Unless either counsels have any objections, I am prepared to confer with the jury to arrive at a verdict."

"No objections, Your Honor," Robin breathed for the first time in what seemed like quite a while.

Lloyd Reed had completely vanished from the prosecution's desk.

"Well," the judge blinked a few times, "I'll have to have a chat with Prosecutor Reed about proper courtroom etiquette. For now, however, I will take this to mean there are no objections." The judge began to sidle over to the jury box, where he spoke to the jurors.

Robin glanced over his shoulder, "Morgan, is everything all right?"

"Huh?" she looked to each side as if someone had tapped her on the back, "Sorry, I'm… still kinda thinking my way through this, Mr. LeBlanc."

 _I guess that's pretty understandable_ , Robin thought, _After all, given what_ I _went through… I don't know how I'd react if the situation had been like this_.

The judge resumed his position at the bench, "As you can probably guess by the speed of our deliberations, this court unanimously finds the defendant, Morgan Cassidy… Not Guilty. This court is adjourned!"

A few cheers and exhausted sighs of relief sounded through the court. Robin smiled, picked up his things, and exited the courtroom with Morgan slowly plodding along one step behind him.

[October 21st, 2:08 pm, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 4]

Robin sat down on the sofa and exhaled, "What a fight. I almost can't believe it's over."

"Me neither," Morgan eventually plopped down beside him, "I'm… sorry for almost sabotaging my own defense, Mr. LeBlanc. And I'm glad that you were there to finish defending me."

"Oh, no worries, Morgan," he smiled, "I respect your dedication to your friends. I can't rightly say I would have acted any differently if it were me."

"So you told me," she giggled.

"Morgie-worgie!" Eirika Verlain ran up and ensnared the little redhead in a tight hug, "Oh, my precious Morgan! I'm so glad you're coming back home! I just knew they'd have to see it your way."

"Thanks, mom," she smiled broadly, "I'll be happy to come home, too."

"And…" the aqua-haired woman relinquished her daughter, "I suppose I owe you a big thanks, too, Mr. LeBlanc. If it weren't for you, my little Morgie would be singing the jailbird's song. You proved that you're worthy of succeeding my father."

Robin blushed, "Ah, that's a bit much, perhaps. After all, Morgan was abundantly involved in her own defense. Without her, I don't know what I would have done."

"Well, I think you've earned your stripes, anyway," she flashed him a big smile, then turned back to Morgan, "Ready to go home, sweetie?"

Morgan's expression was mixed, "Um… not just yet. Can I wait here a bit longer?"

Eirika's eyes went wide, "Oh. Um, of course, do as you will."

"Thanks," Morgan said, "it shouldn't take long."

As if on cue, Inigo, Ross, and Cath all spilled into the defense lobby, along with Nino, who was being led out in handcuffs. "Everyone," the green-haired girl turned to them, "I know it's impossible to forgive what I've done, but… my conscience will never be clear unless I tell you all that I'm sorry. I only did it out of love for all of you, as twisted an expression of love as it was."

"Don't you dare speak to us of love, you scheming bitch!" Cath growled.

"How dare you go after poor ol' Morg like that! Not to mention you axed little Ewy! How can you expect us to take your apology seriously?" Ross joined her.

"Nino… I forgive you," Morgan sighed.

"What?" the others jumped in unison.

"But Morgan, she killed Ewan and pinned the blame on you! How can you say that?" Inigo demanded.

Morgan nodded, "Nino did some awful things, but that's for her to live and cope with on her own terms. For my part… well, it's not like I'll ever be able to forget about what she did, but I want to be able to remember the Nino Cooper who hung out with us drinking fruit juice in the diners after school, and who helped all of us on those tricky assignments, and who played the violin for us late at night when we all slept over together… That's the Nino I want to keep on knowing."

"Morgan…" Nino teared up and buried her head, "Morgan, someday, if I ever get out of prison, I don't think there's anything I could ever do to make this all up to you, to repay you the kindness you've given me, but, if there is… you can bet nothing will stop me from making it happen."

"Hahaha!" Morgan giggled, "There's that fierce determination I remember from our spelling bees. I'll come visit you first thing tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," she was led away, tears streaming down her cheeks, "Thank you, Morgan."

Robin smiled even wider as Morgan sat back down next to him. "You have some really amazing friends, Morgan," he said.

"Trust me, I know," she grinned at each of them, "And I know that wherever life takes us, we're always gonna stay close."

"No doubt," Cath grinned.

"You got it," Ross gave a thumbs-up.

"Naturally," Inigo bowed.

"Ya know, maybe we were a little harsh on Nino. I'm still pissed, but she didn't deserve that. Mind if I join you when you visit her, Morgan?" asked Cath.

"Of course not," she smiled, "I'd be happy to have you."

"Then I simply must tag along," Inigo nodded.

"Count me in," Ross affirmed,

"Heehee," Morgan giggled, "you guys. Just don't be late, all right?"

They expressed their agreement and said their goodbyes.

When the trio of friends departed, Eirika turned to Morgan, "Well, all set then, sweetheart?"

"Actually, I wanted to discuss something, mom."

"Can it wait until we get back?"

"Not exactly. I think I've figured out what I want to study now that I've graduated."

"Really? And what's that?"

The little redheaded girl stepped in front of Robin, who started up from his lounging position, "Er, yes?"

"Mr. LeBlanc, I was wondering if you'd be willing to take me on as your student."

"My student?" Robin exclaimed, "Morgan, I'm just a rookie, myself. I'm sure there are people more qualified to teach you."

"Maybe, but I like the way you look at things, Mr. LeBlanc," she smiled, "in the same way I like the way Fado—er, my grandpa thought about things. I don't want anyone teaching me but him or his disciples, and that leaves only you."

 _Decision by default. How reassuring_. "Well, I'm not really sure what to say, Morgan. How do you feel about it, Eirika?"

Eirika tapped her finger on her chin, "Hmm… Morgan is legally an adult, so she can choose to pursue whatever she wants… However, she will need a legal guardian in the event she has a problem, and I can only provide financial support to the kids up until they're eighteen… I think you'd be a good candidate to be her new guardian, Mr. LeBlanc. With that feisty secretary of yours, I think she'd be in a great environment with good male and female role models."

Robin blinked, "You're asking me if I want to adopt her?"

"Basically," Eirika Verlaine shrugged.

Morgan balled her fists, "Don't worry, though! I won't be a mooch! I'm a hard worker! Give me any task and I'll get it done! I'll clean the dishes, and the toilets, and the carpets, and the walls—anything to make it worth your while!"

"All right, all right," Robin put his hands out, "please, spare me the sales pitch. If Fado Verlaine's own daughter is asking me to take care of you, I can't very well say no, can I?"

"So you'll let me?" She jumped up, "YES! Oh, thank you so much, Boss! I promise to work and study like crazy!"

"Easy!" Robin tried to calm her down as she began to run laps around the room, "Let's talk about this whole 'Boss' thing…"

 _And that was the story of how I met my irreplaceable understudy. She would follow alongside me in the cases to come, and the asset she became would be invaluable during those trials. Of course, big questions still sat in my head about Sonia Verdun and why she had been so ardent about keeping me off the trail of her daughter. At the time, it seemed like one of those things that mortals just aren't meant to know. Later cases would convince me otherwise, however…_

[Turnabout of a Kind ~ Trial Day 2-End]

[AN: Hey you! Yeah, you! Did you know Ace Attorney: Spirit of Justice is now available on the 3DS eShop for just $29.99? Hours of thrilling legal drama, ready to go for a very modest price! Really, thirty bucks is a steal for mystery writing of this quality! Go pick it up today!]


	13. Turnabout Collapse: Trial Former

[October 28th, 8:36 am, Detention Center]

Robin LeBlanc dug his hand into his pocket, watching the conversation. It wasn't his right to say anything at the moment, but he felt certain Morgan would want to speak when it was over.

Nino Cooper's blue eyes were small and tight under her emerald-green hair, but they were currently being pushed up by a smile. Her hairband had been removed for the moment, and the long curls of green cascaded down her face, some in wiry strands that showed she hadn't had a chance to straighten them since going to sleep. Her face wasn't one of fear, however—it was relief. Her cheeks were easier, softer, and her hands were no longer balled up with knuckle-pulling fury, they rested limply on the table in front of her as she spoke.

For her part, Morgan's face was also easy, showing little other than a reflection of Nino's smile. Her eyebrows weren't even arched to show some kind of curiosity. Looking at the two of them, it would be easy to think that their conversation was on an entirely innocent subject, something like their schoolwork—it passed along that easily. No uninformed observer would ever guess this was the exchange of a girl who was speaking to a friend who had killed one of their mutual friends in cold blood and blamed it on her.

Robin scratched his chin idly. He had followed Nino's trial through the papers: the attorney who defended her had dug into Nino's personal life, against Sonia Verdun's strict wishes, and found a history of abuse from her former caretaker. On a plea of insanity, Nino Cooper had been committed to an asylum until she turned thirty, whereupon she would be granted limited probation.

Robin looked back down and saw tears welling in Nino's eyes. Her voice was getting raspy, and she had trouble speaking to Morgan. Morgan was understanding. Her smile was gone: it had glazed over into a more contemplative look. She listened to what Nino was saying as if making a mental checklist. When Nino had finished, Morgan said her goodbyes and tapped Robin on the arm to indicate she was ready to go. He uttered a hurried wish that Nino would get the help she needed and started walking out toward his car, palming his keys.

When they both had settled in and Robin had started the engine, he looked over at Morgan, scrutinizing her. "I'm surprised," he said, forgetting that she didn't know what he was thinking, "about your attitude, I mean. Not many people would face a friend's killer with such… forgiveness."

"It's not worth being angry," Morgan said, "I knew what was happening to Nino. She wouldn't say it outright, but there were always little glimpses about what Sonia was doing to her. Bruises and stuff. She never talked about them, but I had a feeling."

"Still, I know there are a lot of people who don't think insanity offers much closure. I imagine it doesn't sit well with you."

"It doesn't," Morgan answered, folding her arms, "but there's no use putting that on her. She was my friend for years on end, but she's different now. She had no idea what she was doing. I believe that, and I have to make peace with it."

Robin's mouth turned up into a smirk as he pulled out of the parking lot. "Hard to believe you're the same girl who burst into my office just over a week ago. You hardly seemed sure of anything then."

"I'm still not. But I learn quickly. So I've been told, anyway."

"Well, I'm not in much of a position to judge, but I'd say you've had enough shows of emotional maturity for one day. Wanna get something to eat?"

"That sounds great." She turned to face him, her cheeks widening into a smile. "What did you have in mind?"

"You pick."

"Oh, and will Miss Anna join us?"

"Huh? Oh, I think Anna's busy balancing our books. She never wants anything when I offer, anyway. You don't have to call her 'miss,' by the way. I don't think she likes it. Makes her feel old."

"Whatever you say, Boss."

"And that's another thing…"

[October 28th, 11:42 am, LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices]

The door swung open, and Morgan was the first to enter, brushing past her new guardian to flop down onto the sofa. Robin walked in behind her rubbing his neck. Anna spun around in her chair to wave to him. "I take it things went well?"

"Nino's doing all right," Morgan answered for them both, "she's going to get help. Everyone else has already visited her, too. It's gonna take time, but I think we're going to get past this."

"I'm glad to see you bouncing back a little, kiddo," said Anna, now rising from her desk. "It was pretty sad to watch you go from off-the-walls energetic to betrayed depression in a few days."

"We've all run a few emotional gamuts the past couple of days," said Robin, "I think it'll do us all some good to relax a bit."

Morgan smiled at that, but Anna was less pleased. She scowled at the young attorney. "Is that your way of trying to get out of work? You know we're still in some pretty serious debt."

"And I'm working on that," he replied, rubbing his neck again, "but, see, it's been tricky with everything that's happened and… well, you know, everything's been so quick and touch-and-go, how could I ever… uh…"

Anna rolled her eyes. "I can move some funds around, but we're going to need to actually address this problem soon, or this office is as good as closed."

"Can I help?" Morgan asked, looking up at both of them and balling her fists.

"Nah." Robin tilted his head. "This is just money stuff. Nothing you need to be worried about."

"Hey, if we've got a new employee, we might as well give her at least a few duties, right?" Anna interrupted him, "Whaddya know about balancing checkbooks, kid?"

"Uh, nothing, I guess," Morgan answered.

"Anna, be reasonable," said Robin, "she's fresh out of high school. How about this, Morgan: I have some big files full of names on the shelf in my office, could you reorder them alphabetically by last name?"

"Right!" She gave him a firm salute with a twinkle in her eye and jumped off the couch into the other room.

Anna waited another moment before raising an eyebrow at her employer: "What in the world do you need your profiles alphabetized for?"

"Never hurts to have a system," he replied, smiling, "plus, that was the first thing Fado had me do when I started working here. It took hours."

"Oh, right." Anna folded her arms and thought back briefly to the fresh-faced attorney who'd entered the office that day. His hair was shorter back then, and a little darker. His eyes had been just as sparkly as Morgan's were a minute ago, and he had had trouble getting the door open, clutching some massive legal books to his chest. She was certain at the time that he'd never read them before, but since he'd started working, she had seen him work his way through them all. In a lot of ways, he had been just as eager and energetic as Morgan, though less excitable and more clumsy. That was always his way. She recalled once having to hold a tissue under his nose and a compress to his head as he had somehow managed to trip over the rug and fall face-first into Fado's desk. She found herself giggling at the memory.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Your face," she answered honestly.

"Beg pardon?"

"Just yanking your chain. I'm thinking about how much she reminds me of you when you first got here."

"Me? Hah! I was a consummate professional, I'll have you know."

"Robin, I was there. I remember the Great Sandwich Debacle, and similar ventures."

"Look, if Fado was going to bring the same type of sandwich for lunch, the least he could've done is labeled it and—er, that's all in the past! I got work done, that's all there is to it."

"Yeah, you were a real ace," she said, rolling her eyes, "Right up through your first… er, ahem." She paused to clear her throat. "Uh, never mind."

Robin's face dropped. "Hm? What were you thinking about?"

"No, I'm sorry." Anna shook her head as if to dismiss the thought. "I shouldn't have said anything." She ran her hand along her desk, grabbing a photo that Robin hadn't noticed up to that moment. "It was just with this stupid thing, I was thinking about…"

"What's that?" He looked curiously at the photo and took a step toward her.

Anna frowned at it and offered it to him. "Some lady came by yesterday while you were getting lunch, said she was returning stolen property to you."

"'Stolen property?'" he repeated, "And you're just telling me now?"

"Look, it's not…" She sighed in frustration. "Just look at the damned thing."

He did so. The photo was of a woman with fuchsia hair giving the camera a polite smile. She was dressed in a smart-looking black suit with a white shirt underneath and no tie. A gold chain hung around her neck, and, as Robin looked more closely, he realized that she had a beauty mark under her bottom lip and one of her bangs was nearly covering her right eye. The face was vaguely familiar, but it became a little too familiar when he read the name beneath the photo: Leila Viscount. He flipped the photo over and handed it back to Anna. "Sorry. You made the right call. I don't want to see this thing."

"Sorry to dredge it up," she said, taking it back.

"Who did you say brought it here?"

"I didn't get her name. Just some blonde lady. Knocked on the door, asked for you. I said you were out, she gave the photo to me, called it 'stolen property,' and then winked at me and left. Really weird exchange, upon retrospect."

"Blonde, huh? I wonder…"

Anna laughed a little. "Something I should know about? Are you seeing someone new?"

"Hardly. If it's who I'm thinking of, I'm not really her type."

"What, she doesn't like lawyers?"

"Partly. I think she's more into cute redheaded secretaries, though."

Anna blinked. "Oh."

"Hey, Boss," Morgan announced herself as she stepped out of his office, "What do you want me to do with this paper on your desk?"

"What?" He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I don't think I left any papers on my desk."

"Well, there's this," said Morgan, waving the paper in her hand at him, "It looks like all the other ones in those files. See? It has the name up top and everything."

Robin took the document and read it, seeing that everything was as Morgan said it was. He scowled at the paper and crushed it into a ball, then marched over to the trash can and threw it violently down.

Anna and Morgan both watched with frowns: Anna's sad, Morgan's perplexed.

"Is this a joke?" Robin glared at Anna. "Because if it is, it's not funny."

"What? I didn't even see the damn thing."

"That," he looked back at the trash can, "and the photo you just showed me… is it some kind of prank? It's in really bad taste, Anna."

"It wasn't!" she protested, "Robin, look at me. I know how serious that case is to you. Why would I ever joke about it?"

He sighed. "No, I guess you wouldn't. But how did it get on my desk? I sure as hell didn't put it there."

"I don't know."

"What about the blonde? Did you let her into the office at all?"

"No, never. She never got past the door."

"Then something doesn't make sense."

"Er, none of this makes sense," said Morgan, "Why did you get so angry over a dumb piece of paper, Boss?"

He looked down at her. "Right. Maybe that wasn't the best behavior for your new guardian. Uh, well, Morgan, that paper is a profile on somebody I don't like very much. Somebody who was involved in my very first trial as an attorney."

Her eyes lit up. "Really? Your first trial? What was it about? What happened?"

"Morgan, hon, this isn't something Robin really likes to talk about…"

Robin closed his eyes. "No, I'll tell her. This is something she deserves to know about, working for me. And, to be honest, with what happened in that last trial, it's probably best that I face it. Can't ignore these things forever."

"The last trial?" Morgan wondered aloud, pinching her chin, "Oh! Is this about the part where you passed out?"

"Yeah," said Robin, dragging it out with a long breath, "Why don't you come sit in my office with me? Anna, when you get a chance, please bring us some tea. This is going to take a while."

"I guess we weren't going to get any work done today anyway." The secretary shrugged.

Robin walked into the office with Morgan and sat down at his chair. His junior employee grabbed the seat on the other side of the desk that was usually reserved for clients and propped herself up. Robin took a set of folders down from the shelf behind him and spread them out across the dark wood of the desk. He opened up one and began to root around through its contents. "Now," he said aloud, "like I said, this was my first trial in Fado's employ, so I was pretty nervous. He was there to help me, thankfully, but it was a pretty high-profile case. I'm still not exactly sure why he chose to give it to me…"

[*]

[Three years ago… April 17th, 10:08 am, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 1]

"Because, Mr. LeBlanc, I trust you. I think you're perfectly capable."

"Okay, fine, you trust me," said the sweating Robin LeBlanc, "put me on a shoplifting case, or something! This? This is… I don't know what it is. Insanity comes to mind."

"Relax, Mr. LeBlanc," Fado told him, folding his arms, "What is your client going to think if he sees you panicking like that?"

"Probably the same thing he thought when he learned he wasn't going to be defended by the famous Fado Verlaine, but by an understudy with no court experience," Robin answered.

Fado threw his head back in a laugh: "Ha ha ha! You always could give me a good chuckle, son. At least you've got the client's feelings in mind. But despairing certainly isn't going to make your situation any better. It's about time you straightened up that back and got yourself ready. The trial will be starting soon."

"Not helping," replied the young attorney.

"Let's see if you did your homework," said Fado with an evaluative glare, "You read the case brief, didn't you? Remind me of the facts of the case."

"There wasn't much in there," Robin answered, "The defendant, Pelleas Apoleus, is charged with first-degree murder. The victim, a Miss Leila Viscount, was eating lunch with him in a café when it happened."

"The cause of death?"

"Poisoning, according to the coroner. The victim ingested a small but lethal dose of cyanide that killed her instantly. The cup her drink was served in that afternoon tested positive for traces of cyanide, so it was probably slipped in there."

"So, why did they arrest Mr. Apoleus?"

"He was sitting at the table with the victim. He had the biggest window of opportunity. There were also some rumors about enmity between the two, but no one on the investigative committee commented on that."

"Anything else stick out to you?"

"Well, there was a power outage cause by a storm that day. It happened at 3:53 pm, according to the café's staff. Ms. Viscount was found dead after the power was restored minutes later."

"Good bit of showmanship, that. Raise the curtain of darkness, _et voila! La dame, elle est morte! Quelle horreur bizarre!_ "

"This isn't going to go very far if I can't understand you, sir."

"It's all very theatrical. I'm glad you noticed how strange it is. Good. You seem to have done your due diligence, Mr. LeBlanc. Hopefully that will translate to good results in court today."

"H-Hopefully?" Robin shuddered.

"You'll do fine," said Fado, slinging his arm around his protégé, "Now, let's get in there. They'll be waiting for us."

"H-Hang on a second!" Robin protested, "What about speaking to my client?"

"Not a lot of time for that, son," his mentor said, folding his arms, "The courts in this country don't make many allowances for suspected criminals. We've done the necessary amount of prep, though. If you remember everything I've taught you, you'll do all right. Plus, I'll be there the whole time."

"I'm still not sure I'm ready."

"There's no need to doubt yourself, Robin. I know I don't."

Robin nodded. "Yes, sir."

[April 17th, 10:28 am, District Court-Courtroom No. 1]

Robin's mind tuned out the idle chatter of the gallery who were watching him enter. He concentrated on the large shadow cast by the warm gold lights in the ceiling being blocked by the elevated judge's bench. Feeling a hand over his shoulder, he let himself be led to the defense's bench by his mentor, and placed a few files on the desk, as did Fado. He looked across to the other side of the room for the first time and noticed a woman staring back at him, a disapproving look on her face. Her hair was indigo, almost purplish, and her eyes were about the same—the color of night skies. She wore a pair of gold earrings—not unlike Anna's, Robin realized—and navy-blue suit that fit her figure closely, but not in such a way that it seemed deliberate. She seemed to frown even more deeply when she saw him observing her dress. The woman picked up a file from the bench before her as well as a pair of silver-rimmed glasses and looked down, covering her face and body from him. Robin shrugged and pulled his tie a little tighter.

"I'll be damned," said Fado with a whisper of laughter, "Bringing out the big guns, are they?"

Robin turned to ask him what he meant, but at that moment, the sound of the judge's gavel brought his attention to the back of the room again.

"Silence, order, please," said the judge, clearing his throat. "Good morning, all. This court will now convene for the trial of Pelleas Apoleus. Are both counsels prepared?"

"As ever, Your Honor," said the purple-haired woman.

"Ah, Ms. Verra," the judge exclaimed, "It has been a minute since you were last in my humble court, hasn't it?"

"It has. I don't often return to the steps I've climbed, but I make allowances when it's necessary," she replied.

"Ursula Verra," Fado whispered to Robin, "She's a state prosecutor now. I had a few run-ins with her when she was just a young thing… Be careful, my boy. She doesn't tolerate any nonsense."

 _A state prosecutor? For my first trial?! Oh, I am so totally out of my depth, here!_

"And it is quite necessary, hm?" said the judge, reading over the case brief on his desk, "We have a very serious case on our hands, as I understand it."

"Yes, Your Honor," Ursula Verra answered.

"Now then," the judge digressed, "are you prepared, Mr. Robin… LeBlank?"

"Er, with all respect to Your Honor, it's pronounced 'LeBlanc.'"

"Of course, my apologies. Now, I understand that this is your first trial, Mr. LeBlanc. Is that true?"

"It is, Your Honor."

"Very good. No need to be intimidated, then. We are only interested in pursuing and teasing out the truth here, as I'm sure your employer, Mr. Verlaine, has told you."

"I gave him the rundown, Your Honor. Not to worry." Fado smiled at the judge.

"And do you feel prepared, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Yes, sir. Er, Your Honor. I'm ready to begin."

"Good. Then this trial is officially in session." The judge swung his gavel. "Now, how do you plead, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Not guilty, Your Honor."

"So be it. Ms. Verra, I imagine you have an opening statement prepared?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Ursula Verra said, stepping forward from her bench and speaking to the entire court. "At four o'clock in the afternoon on April tenth, the defendant, Mr. Pelleas Apoleus, was apprehended following the death of the victim, Ms. Leila Viscount. The two had been lunching together at a local café. The day was a dark and stormy one, and, at one point, the building's power went out, causing the lights to dim. Minutes later, when the power was restored, the victim fell dead. An autopsy revealed that the victim had most likely ingested cyanide, meaning that she was poisoned. There was no evidence to suggest that the victim might have accidentally ingested the cyanide, leading the police department to conclude that this was a homicide. The victim's cup was also tested and confirmed for traces of cyanide, further suggesting the poisoning was deliberate. Ultimately, the police reached the conclusion that Mr. Apoleus poisoned the victim by introducing cyanide to her drink during the blackout. In the absence of any evidence to refute this conclusion, the state has concurred with this opinion."

 _Well, Fado wasn't kidding about her being no-nonsense. That sounded like it was ripped straight from a newspaper._

"Did the state determine a motive for the defendant, Ms. Verra?" asked the judge.

Ursula nodded. "Yes, Your Honor. As it turns out, the defendant is Ylisse's ambassador to Plegia. He was to be receiving some important information from the victim, an agent of the Plegian government, but, according to a few witness testimonies, the deal went sour at some point in the middle of the meal. We strongly suspect that it was at that moment that the defendant decided to commit the murder. At the court's request, the state is prepared to provide witnesses and physical evidence to support all of the conclusions made thus far. In short, there can be no doubt as to the truth of this case. Nothing further."

"Thank you, Ms. Verra," said the judge, leaning back into his chair, "I believe it is in the court's best interest to hear of this physical evidence. Could you please present it?"

"The evidence will be shown to the court by the investigating detective on the scene," Ursula told him, "Mr. Mordel, would you be so kind?"

A man with pale hair walked slowly up to the stand. His hair wasn't quite gray, but it wasn't dark enough to be considered brown—it was a kind of puce. His eyes were small and narrow as he took his place at the stand, dressed in a long coat that was only a little darker than his hair. A red scarf was folded neatly under his collar. He jammed one hand into his pocket and glared at everyone in the room to ensure that they knew he was unhappy to be in their presence.

Only Ursula seemed able to ignore the tense atmosphere: "Your name and occupation for the record, detective."

"Volke Mordel," he answered, "I'm a detective, like you just said. Shall we get on with it?"

"Let's. Tell the court about what you and your men discovered that will prove the defendant's guilt."

"Right. So, here's the long and short of it: the defendant and victim were seated at the same table the whole time, right up until the murder. We have witnesses who can confirm their positions, as well as some security footage of the moments before the blackout. Of course, the camera cut out as soon as the lights did, but it was impossible for anyone else to have poisoned the victim's drink: both of the café's waitstaff were still serving tables right before the blackout, so they would've known if anyone moved afterward. When the defendant was arrested, he had traces of cyanide on his cuff. Similar tests were applied to the waitstaff in the condition that they were discovered, but they turned up negative, meaning neither of them could have done it. Not to mention, the defendant had a vial of hydrogen cyanide in his pocket when he was arrested. The only remaining possibility is that the defendant was at fault."

"Thank you for that highly succinct testimony, detective," said the judge. Volke simply continued to project an unamused glare at the court. "And now I believe Mr. LeBlanc has the opportunity to cross-examine the detective."

Robin swallowed hard and looked over at his mentor. "Fado," he said, "what do I do? I don't think the detective was lying anywhere, and his logic is sound, so what can I say?"

"Don't panic just yet, son," said Fado, "it's much too early. The detective's thinking isn't as perfect as it sounds. Slow down, and try to think about what might not be apparent in the detective's statement. Or just ask about something—either way, you're sure to get more information."

"All right." Robin took a deep breath. "Mister… er, that is, Detective Mordel, I'm afraid I don't know much about toxicology. Can you tell me how someone might be able to put cyanide in a drink without someone noticing?"

Volke stared back at Robin, but, for a moment, Robin thought he could see the detective smiling a little under his scarf. "Cyanide is a very versatile poison. It can be procured in liquid and gaseous forms, as well as salts."

"It's in _salt_?!" Robin started.

"No, no. _Salts_. As in solid compounds of small crystals."

"O-Okay…"

"In brief, cyanide stops the body from producing the energy it needs to function, so a high enough dose basically guarantees instantaneous death. No fuss. In this case, it was most likely introduced to the victim's drink as a liquid, making it hard to detect."

"Is there any reason it couldn't have been the solid form?"

"Not that I can offer evidence for, no. Cyanide has a melting point of around seven degrees Fahrenheit, though. So, if it was placed in, say, coffee, it probably wouldn't stay solid for very long, anyway."

"Well… that told me nothing." Robin frowned.

"On the contrary," Fado leaned his head back for another laugh, "that was quite the interesting chemistry lesson!"

"Um, so, you say you found traces of cyanide on the defendant's cuff?" Robin continued, facing the detective again.

"That's right. Chemicals can be applied to material like the defendant's shirt to test for substances—they change color if they find even small traces of the substance. The defendant's cuff tested positive for cyanide."

"Is it possible that some of the cyanide might have gotten onto the defendant's cuff by accident?"

"Not likely. For starters, we've already abundantly proven that no one else was moving at the time. For another, even if it were an accident, had liquid cyanide touched the defendant's skin, well… there's a good chance he'd be a victim, too. But, if he noticed it right away, he could do something like turn the cuff inside-out to prevent it from bleeding through the fabric onto him."

"Damn," Robin cursed, "this is getting us nowhere."

"Easy, Robin," Fado said, looking straight ahead, "Take your time."

"Let's see… how about the cameras? You said they cut out when the blackout happened, but the murder happened after the blackout, so how can you be so sure no one else approached the victim?"

"I have the sworn testimony of everyone in the room at the time. Only servers were still moving after the blackout, and there's no reason to suspect either of them."

"But… it was dark, so couldn't someone have missed something?"

"'Someone?' 'Something?'" Ursula Verra sighed, "Mr. LeBlanc, I understand that this is your first trial, but if you are going to make claims, they must be specific and supported by evidence."

"R-Right. Um… detective, about the vial of cyanide… did it have any fingerprints on it?"

"Nope. The vial seems to have been wiped clean."

"Don't you think it's a little strange that the defendant would just keep such an incriminating piece of evidence on his person? Why not just throw it away, or something?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say he had it figured that people were going to realize he and Ms. Viscount had been sitting together the whole time, and that they'd eventually put two and two together. He probably figured that it was safer to hold onto the thing than just leave it out in the open for anyone to find."

"That's pretty prescient of him. Wait a minute… yeah, prescient… Just a second: detective, I have another question."

"Hm?"

"You say the murder was committed after the blackout, and the defendant was the only one who could have done it in that time, but then… why?"

"…I don't follow."

"I'm saying, if Mr. Apoleus was planning to murder Ms. Viscount, why did he wait for the blackout? Did he know there was going to be a blackout?"

"H-Huh?" The detective's eyes sunk.

"It's more likely that the defendant planned to murder Ms. Viscount no matter what, and the blackout provided a convenient opportunity," Ursula said, "It's really nothing so complex."

"But how else would he have done it? He couldn't have poisoned her drink right in front of her, and even if she got up to use the restroom or something, there were still plenty of witnesses around who could have seen him do it," Robin replied.

Ursula Verra shrugged. "This conversation is irrelevant speculation. Unless you can provide proof that this question of yours changes the meaning of all the other evidence."

Robin thought, and when he was done thinking, he turned to his mentor. "I can't do that, can I?"

"You'd have to be a smarter man than me," Fado answered, smiling.

"No further questions," Robin sighed, facing the rest of the court again.

"Then that will be all, detective." Ursula folded her arms and shut her eyes.

"Yes, thank you, detective," said the judge, "You're dismissed. In the meantime, do you have another witness to call, prosecution?"

Ursula cocked an eyebrow at the dark-coated detective who walked sulkily by her, glaring up at her for only the briefest moment. She then picked up a paper from her desk and said, "Yes, Your Honor. The prosecution would now like to call on the defendant, in the interest of some legal standards of equality, but also so that the court can hear the flimsiness of his explanation and further concur with the state's conclusions."

Robin could now get his first good look at his client since he had visited the office a few days ago. He looked a few years older than Robin, but not many. His hair was long and wiry, reaching down to his shoulders, and cobalt blue in hue. His face and eyes sagged into a long and seemingly permanent frown, giving off the impression that he had always just been crying. Or, perhaps, at best, he looked sternly apathetic. He was wearing a white suit, which Robin found strange, until he realized that it was less of a suit and more of a uniform: not unlike his hair and face, the suit was dirtied and rumpled, meaning he probably hadn't had much time to change out of it since being arrested. It must have been the suit he wore for official appearances—a part of his identity, in which case, it was unfortunate but appropriate that it was so beaten up.

He stood at the stand and looked over at the defense bench with the same vaguely sad look in his eyes, and then faced Ursula.

"Your name and occupation for the record," she commanded.

"My name is Pelleas Apoleus," he said in a weak monotone, "I'm Ylisse's ambassador to Plegia."

"Indeed. Now, tell the court what you believe happened on the day of Ms. Viscount's murder."

"R-Right. Well, I was acting in an official capacity that day. I was supposed to be receiving several documents from Ms. Viscount that had been sent by the Plegian government. I called a few days before we were to meet and asked if there was somewhere she would like to meet in particular, and she named the café we later visited. I think she comes there quite often. At any rate, we met there a little after three—a quarter past, if memory serves. We ate a light lunch and discussed affairs between our two countries until, finally, the blackout happened. I didn't know quite what to do, so I just remained still while the lights were out. I couldn't see a thing, but I could hear both of the servers still moving around for a few minutes after. Eventually, after a bit of chatter, the lights came back on, and I turned around to find Leila dead. Imagine my shock and horror! Of course, I alerted everyone in the café straight away, and even suggested that we ought to call the police. I don't know how that poison got on my cuff, or in my pocket, I swear! Why should I have done it?"

The court was silent, projecting a number of evaluative stares down at the defendant. Few of them seemed to make a positive judgment. Even Robin found himself frowning. "This isn't good," he said, "That didn't make for a very convincing counterargument. At this rate, the prosecution won't even need to call any of their witnesses."

"Don't despair just yet," said Fado, smiling at his protégé, "This is a good opportunity for you. You can help our client fix up his statements. Give him a stronger platform to stand on, and you may find more folks coming over to our side."

"Of course, you're right." These words sounded more like Robin trying to convince himself. "Fix his statements… I can do this."

Fado turned back to face the defendant, still smiling. "I know you can, son."

"Mr. LeBlanc, I assume you'll have a few questions for the defendant as well?" the judge said.

"Yes, Your Honor." Robin put on his best professional face without looking too stern—he was afraid even an indelicate glare might break this poor, nervous-looking man. "Mr. Apoleus, you said you were receiving documents from Ms. Viscount… can you tell the court anything more about the contents of those documents?"

"Oh, I don't know… most of those would be considered confidential. I don't think I'm at liberty to say anything too specific."

"Is there any reason someone else might've wanted to get their hands on those documents?"

Pelleas's brow shifted as he thought. "I'd be quite surprised. Most of them were… ahem, well, speaking broadly, there were some reports and records of illicit trading along the border. Nothing of interest to anyone besides government officials, really."

"If you were going to suggest the involvement of a third party, Mr. LeBlanc, you'd have to first provide proof that there was even anyone there with the opportunity," said Ursula, "otherwise, you have nothing."

"To that end," Robin said, trying to maintain his composure, "Mr. Apoleus, you say you heard the servers moving around, right?"

"Yes, I could hear their footsteps."

"But you couldn't see them in the dark, right? How do you know it was them?"

"Hm… I suppose I don't. I just assumed, since they were the only ones up and moving before the blackout."

"For the record, we have the sworn testimony of both servers saying the witnessed the other moving before the blackout, and no one else," said Ursula, "This line of inquiry won't stick, Mr. LeBlanc."

Robin paused and frowned.

Fado faced him again. "What's the matter, son? This'd be a good time to ask some more questions."

"Yeah, I have one in mind, it's just… I'm afraid it might damage our case if I ask, but I also think it might help lead us to more information. Should I ask it?"

"Hah. That's one of the toughest judgment calls you can make as a lawyer, son. I'll let you decide, because it won't be the last time."

"What? But that's… er, well… any advice?"

"I never knew any subject so dangerous it couldn't at least be talked about."

"All right. That's what I was thinking." Robin cleared his throat and faced the stand again. "Mr. Apoleus, Ms. Verra has given this court the idea that you and the victim had some kind of argument before the murder. Is there any truth to that allegation?"

Pelleas's frown sunk even deeper, as if he were wondering if his attorney had lost it.

"Please remember that you are under oath, Mr. Apoleus," Ursula said, her eyes sharp.

"I'm afraid…" He bowed his head. "…that it is not entirely _un_ true."

Robin grit his teeth. "Oh, no…" Ursula only gave a tiny smile.

"Ms. Viscount is a… very opinionated woman," Pelleas said, cocking his head to the side, "She apparently took some umbrage with the way I perform my duties, and there was the matter of my father… She told me I was too passive, and so I tried to summon up a little courage… I don't think it was really much of an argument, I just asked her to quit berating me."

"And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen of the court," Ursula Verra said, taking a bow, "The defendant, humiliated during his meeting with the victim, took advantage of his opportunity to poison the victim's drink during the blackout. The only defense he can muster is that he has no idea where the poison came from… what an atrocious lie!"

"P-Please! I'm telling the truth! Why won't you listen?" the defendant protested.

"This isn't going well," Fado said matter-of-factly.

"H-Hang on!" Robin shouted, "Ms. Verra, what you just said conflicts with your earlier explanation: why _would_ the defendant be carrying around poison if he only decided to murder the victim because of an argument they had in the middle of their lunch?"

Ursula shook her head and wagged her finger at the young attorney. "Mr. LeBlanc. I understand that this is your first trial, so I'll try not to be too harsh with you, but know this: I have been entrusted with researching this case thoroughly. I know all there is to know about it. You cannot conceive of a single angle which I have not considered. Mr. Apoleus, tell the court: do you have some kind of history with the victim?"

"Y-Yes," he sighed, "Ms. Viscount was my most frequent point of contact with the Plegian government. We met at least once every three months, and we were known to get into similar… er, conversations."

Ursula stretched out her arm, as if presenting the testimony to the defense. "So, you see, the defendant has abundant motive to already despise the victim. Perhaps he was using the day of the murder to decide if he should really go through with it. Of course, we all know what he decided now."

Pelleas let out a pant and buckled a bit at the stand.

Fado called out: "Robin, some professional advice: this is looking grim. Find somewhere else to go with this, quickly."

"But… what…?"

"Anything. Just do it now."

"Er, um… Mr. Apoleus… could we see the cuff you wore on the day of the murder—the one that was alleged to show traces of cyanide?"

"Of course." The defendant rolled up his right arm's suit sleeve and showed the court the white shirt sleeve underneath. At the edge of the cuff, in a straight line from the defendant's middle finger, there was a blob of light blue, ending in, Robin noticed, an unnaturally sharp line at the opposite side. The blot was no wider than an inch.

"Is cyanide known to be blue?" Robin asked, pinching his chin while staring at the evidence.

"No, that would be the chemical reactant used to identify the traces of cyanide," Ursula replied, "this coloration is how the police department can tell, without question, that there are traces of cyanide on the cuff. There is no reason to doubt that fact."

"Wait a second…" Robin muttered, staring even more intensely at the mark, "Mr. Apoleus, what hand do you use most often?"

"Hm? I'm right-handed," the defendant answered.

Ursula folded her arms. "Does this mean something to you, defense?"

"As a matter of fact, it does," Robin replied, "It means the prosecution's theory makes no sense at all!"

"What?!" Ursula bared her teeth like fangs. "How dare you make such a ridiculous claim?" She calmed herself down a bit, closing her mouth and her eyes. "What about the presence of cyanide and the defendant's handedness changes the state's theory?"

"Look at the placement of the cyanide trace: it's on top of the defendant's cuff, in line with his middle finger. If the defendant had lifted the poison from his pocket—presumably with his right hand—and dropped it into the victim's drink, when would it have gotten back _over_ his hand and onto his cuff?"

"Rrgh." Ursula simply growled lowly. The rest of the court began to exchange whispers until the judge's gavel silenced them.

"What does this mean for the court, Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge asked.

"It means that it was impossible for the defendant to have dropped the poison into the victim's drink, like the prosecution has suggested."

"Objection!" Ursula shouted, "It's still entirely possible that the defendant simply used his other hand."

"But why would he do that? Not only would the defendant be performing a precise action with his non-dominant hand, but since he would need to swing his arm all the way over to his pocket and then stretch it out right in front of the victim, it would be an unnecessarily conspicuous action to boot!"

"You're forgetting about the blackout, Mr. LeBlanc. Visibility really wasn't much of a factor. Perhaps the defendant was simply so shocked and excited by the opportunity that he bumbled a bit and used his non-dominant hand because he wanted to be quick about things."

"But… but…"

"Moreover, the placement of the cyanide on the defendant's cuff is irrelevant. A trace could have ended up there accidentally after the fact. It doesn't really matter, considering that the defendant still had the poison on him when the police arrived and no one else had an opportunity to poison the victim."

"There was… someone else had an opportunity!"

Ursula smirked. "Really? And who was that?"

"W-Well… why not one of the servers?"

Ursula smiled. Robin felt his face sink. "I'll be more than happy to give you the testimony of both servers, Mr. LeBlanc. They will provide alibis for one another, and finally represent the full truth of the matter to this court. They will prove, in short, that no one other than the defendant was capable of committing this murder."

Robin doubled back. "Urk! Dammit…"

Fado was watching the prosecutor carefully. "She has changed… a bit, anyway. I guess this is the true power of the Blue Crow."

"The… 'Blue Crow?'" Robin cocked an eyebrow at his mentor.

"Sure. She feeds on carrion. And she's as sharp as a tack, too. Just like a crow. That's the nickname they've given her in the prosecutor's office."

Robin groaned, "Why couldn't I have gotten a simple traffic case?"

"Relax. I'm still here," said Fado, "She's smart, but she's arrogant, too. I'm sure she thinks she's laid many clever traps for you throughout this trial, but if you keep a level head, you can outthink her."

"But what about she said about researching the case? She seems to know everything I'm going to bring up before I can even say it…"

"That's just more arrogance, like I said. You think your client is innocent, right?"

"Y-Yeah…"

"Well, Ms. Verra doesn't. That means, at best, she only _thinks_ she knows every possible explanation."

"Huh?"

"If she really knew _everything_ … she'd probably believe he was innocent, too, don't you think?"

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Just keep at it, Robin. You'll get her. Try to stay calm."

"Right…"

"Well, seeing as the defense's argument has been quite soundly refuted, I will defer to Ms. Verra's statement," said the judge, "If the prosecution would like to call its next witness, we can continue with the trial."

"Certainly, Your Honor," the prosecutor said, leaning back with an easier expression on her face, "The prosecution will call Ms. Amelia Arealla, a waitress at the café."

Robin watched the prosecutor this time, ignoring the witness as she left the gallery and walked up to the witness stand. The Blue Crow stood tall and composed, looking over her records. She really did seem to know all there was to know about this case, as much as it irked him. How could he conceive of an explanation that even a state prosecutor given plenty of time and resources couldn't have imagined?

[Turnabout Collapse ~ Trial Former—end]


	14. Turnabout Collapse: Trial Mid

[April 17th, 11:49 am, District Court-Courtroom No. 1]

Robin had to break his concentration on Ursula and her plans so that he could listen to the witness, who had suddenly appeared at the stand. She was a short and slight blonde girl—not really the type Robin would have pegged for a waitress. She wore a red shirt with a buttoned collar that featured the café's name on the back, a thin pair of tan pants, and she had a towel with the café's logo hanging out of her right pocket.

She was tottering a bit at the stand. She didn't look confused or intoxicated, just like she had some kind of difficulty putting her feet properly in place. Another reason it was strange to think she was a waitress. When she was finally settled, Ursula asked her for her name and occupation.

She gave it: "I'm Amelia Arealla, one of two servers at the bea-YU-tiful Posto Ladro Café! Our motto is: 'Our fantastic food and warm hospitality will steal the hours away!'" With this, she gave a little flourish and stretched out her hand. Afterward, she looked around, as if searching for approval. Someone in the gallery laughed and clapped his hands, earning him an angry glare from the judge.

"Miss Arealla," Ursula Verra said sternly, "please try to remember that you are in a court of law, providing testimony for a murder case."

Her face dropped into a miserable frown. "Oh, I'm sorry! Did I do it wrong again? I was told to get the word out, but… oh, I'm just useless!" The witness started to pout and rub her shoulder.

"It's quite all right, Ms. Arealla," said the judge, "Many people aren't sure quite how to act when placed in a court as a witness for the first time. Please, just relax and answer the questions you're asked, and there won't be any problems."

"Uh, all right," she said in a voice just above a whisper.

 _If you're asking me, it looks like this girl's going to provide plenty of her own problems_ , Robin thought. Fado was silent, looking at the witness with nothing more than an amused smile.

"Ms. Arealla," Ursula called her to attention, "Please tell the court what you were doing on the day of the crime, as well as what you saw the defendant and victim doing at that time."

"Okay," she said with a nod, "Let's see… So, I was the one assigned to Mr. Apoleus and Ms. Viscount's table. We divide the tables up into halves of the restaurants, and that's how we choose which of the of us—my coworker Forde and I, that is—has to serve which table. Those two were on my side, so I served them their food and drinks. I was out on the floor most of the day because we were pretty busy—the whole place was packed almost all day, and it had started to get really warm inside. Between the kitchen cooking up a storm and all the people, I was roasting. But, anyway, I never took my eyes off the front room where all the tables are for more than a few minutes all day. I didn't see either Mr. Apoleus or Ms. Viscount get up or move anywhere during their meal until after Ms. Viscount was dead. For the record, the bathrooms are in the back of the café, past the kitchen. It's a confusing spot, all the way back there, and customers have to ask where it is all the time. Basically, I definitely would've seen if one of them had gone that way."

"So, there you go," Ursula said, raising her hand like she was letting the information drop from it, "The defendant is the only one who had the opportunity to poison the victim's drink, no one else. Given that he had the offending substance in his pocket, it should be clear that there is no room for doubt in this matter."

"Mr. LeBlanc, your cross-examination," offered the judge.

Robin tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Ms. Arealla, I've heard so far that other patrons at the café claimed to still hear the waitstaff moving after the blackout. Can you tell me what you were doing?"

"Well, I can't speak for Forde," she said, pushing her index finger into her cheek, "but for me, I was running around, feeling a little flustered. I wanted to serve the guests, because we were so busy, but, of course, we had to fix the power problem first, and I didn't know how to do that, and I couldn't see where I was, so I ended up tripping and—" she seemed to be running out of breath reliving her trauma.

"Er, that's enough, thanks," Robin told her, "but, just to be clear, you heard your fellow server Forde moving during the blackout, too?"

"Yes. He was a lot more composed than me, by the sound of it. Not that that's anything new…"

"And did you see him in that time?"

"No… It was pitch black inside and dark and stormy outside, so it was really hard to see much of anything when the power went out. That was why I ended up tripping."

"I'll say it again, Mr. LeBlanc," Ursula told him, "the facts of this case are absolutely as the state has presented them. There's no use trying to undermine the story as it has been told thus far."

"I'll be the judge of that," he said in reply.

"What was that?" she growled at him, leaning over her desk.

"Er, nothing! Nothing at all!" Robin had to catch his breath. She was cold in general, but she could get much scarier at the drop of a hat. "U-Um… Ms. Arealla, can we talk about the dimensions of the building a little?"

"Hm? Uh, I didn't build it, so if you're looking for technical specifications…"

"No, not like that. I was thinking about what you said about the bathroom."

"Oh, sure. Yeah, it's in the back of the café, past the kitchen and the employee lounge."

Robin raised his eyebrows. "Employee lounge?"

"Yeah. Didn't I mention that? It's just a little room where Forde and I can get into our uniforms or take a quick water-and-snack break if we're having a rough shift."

"I see. And you didn't go into the lounge at all during that time?"

"Nope. I don't think I went in there at all that day, actually."

"Is the door to the lounge locked when you're not there?"

"No. There's a big 'employees only' sign on it, so most people don't give it a second thought. Besides, we don't really keep anything valuable in there. I guess if someone was really determined to steal our clothes or something…"

"For the record," said Ursula, holding a paper in front of her face, "the police found nothing in the employee lounge but a discarded uniform, believed to have belonged to Mr. Forde Willow. He was probably changing before he left for the day, following the murder."

"What do you think, Mr. Verlaine?" Robin asked, "It's another room we haven't heard about yet. It opens up a whole new dimension to the case, don't you think?"

Fado smiled. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, son, but don't get ahead of yourself. True, this opens up many _possibilities_ , but courts and juries don't much like hearing about possibilities. What they like to hear are _facts_ and _evidence_. You should hold off on making any big statements until you've found the evidence that lets one of those possibilities crystalize into a fact."

"I guess that makes sense." _Still thought you would have encouraged me a little more, though…_

"It seems the existence of this employee lounge is not particularly relevant to the matter at hand," said the judge, "Will there be anything else, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"Um…" The novice attorney's eyes searched the room. "You said it was… hot, Ms. Arealla?"

Ursula folded her arms and scoffed.

"Yeah," Amelia answered, frowning as she recalled it, "Like I said, it was a pretty busy day, so the kitchen was firing non-stop, and the whole building was crazy hot. I was sweating the whole time. I had to towel myself off with a rag before I went to each table so I wouldn't look gross. Ugh, what a day…"

"Any thoughts on that, Mr. LeBlanc?" asked the judge, looking quite ready to be done.

"Um…" Robin scratched his head thoroughly, but he couldn't come up with anything in the few seconds that afforded him.

"Clearly not," said Ursula, "Mr. LeBlanc has finally arrived at the same realization everyone in this court had one testimony ago: there is no use probing for more information. The result of this trial has already been decided by careful planning. Now, if he knows what's good for him, he will spare the rest of us some time and allow the trial to end here, all the proof directed abundantly in the prosecution's favor."

"Shoot!" Robin said to himself, hitting the desk below him, "She's got a real stranglehold on things in this trial. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she really does have every possibility covered…"

"Surely you're not giving up like that?" Fado said, turning to face his protégé.

"I don't want to, but what else can I say? I can't find even the slightest gap in her narrative—she's got everything sealed tightly shut."

Fado shut his eyes and smiled a big grin. "Robin, my boy, are you familiar with the concept of entropy?"

"…Entropy, sir?"

"Sure. In physics, it's a quantity used to describe the number of ways in which a system might not work. You follow? Ever heard of 'Murphy's Law?'"

"Wait… yeah, I do know that one: 'Anything that can go wrong will go wrong,' right?"

"Exactly. That's what 'entropy' usually represents, especially among people. Anytime you introduce people to the equation, there's a high chance that something unexpected will happen. See where I'm going yet?"

"You… want me to turn the trial over to the jury? Hope we win by pure luck?"

Fado scowled. "No."

"Then no."

"Robin, do you think there's a way we could involve another person in these proceedings? Maybe try to disrupt the prosecution's story a bit? Or, at least, complicate it?"

Robin's eyebrows jumped. "Oh! Now I get it! The waiter! Maybe we can get something out of him."

"Thatta boy," Fado said more happily, turning back to the court.

"Will there be anything further, Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge asked, looking down from his bench.

"Yes, Your Honor!" Robin answered, "The defense would like the opportunity to question another of the prosecution's witnesses: namely, Forde Willow, the other server on-staff at the time of the murder!"

"I see," said the judge, leaning back, "Very well. Does the prosecution have any objections, Ms. Verra?"

Ursula sighed. "Personally, I firmly object to the desperate act of stalling for time, but on the level of legal concern, no, the prosecution makes no formal objections to this request."

"Then I see no reason not to grant it," the judge concluded, "Bailiff, would you please fetch the witness?"

The bailiff did as he was told, letting a big gust of air in through the court as he walked out the imposing back doors. Robin, similarly, let out a long breath before looking around the room. He found Ursula immediately sticking her nose back into her notes and files. Meanwhile, Fado was cracking his knuckles and straightening out his suit, appearing to take no interest in the desperation they were currently facing in their case. Looking back behind the space for presiding counsel, beyond the velvet ropes, the gallery were sitting and chatting in whispers. Among them, Pelleas Apoleus, with two policemen on either side of him, was still bearing the same just-crying look as his face descended lower and lower toward his palm. When he saw Robin looking at him, he just moved his head to the side to avoid eye contact. Even as Robin turned around to face the judge again, the older gentleman seemed to have a thoroughly dull look in his eyes. He was stroking at his beard, trying to shield his eyes from the harsh fluorescent lights above him. Finally, footsteps came from the back of the court as the witness was brought forward.

The man took the stand and gave the court a little smile. He was a youthful-looking man with bright eyes, a somewhat narrow jaw, and wheat-blond hair tied into a ponytail at the back. He ran his right hand through that hair before giving everyone in the court a bigger grin, waiting expectantly.

"Your name and occupation for the record," Ursula demanded.

"I'm Forde Willow," he replied, "a fellow server at the Posto Ladro Café. I'll happily answer any questions you have about the day of the crime—I made sure to commit everything I could to memory."

"Mr. Willow," the judge cleared his throat, "If you would, please tell the court everything you remember about the events leading up to the murder, as well as the moments after, before the defendant's arrest."

"Why, sure thing, Your Honor!" He gave the court a thumbs-up. They didn't seem impressed. He blinked at them. "C'mon, sad sacks. Liven up a little. It looks like a damn funeral here."

"Please watch your language," said the judge.

"Take this seriously, witness, or you'll seriously be in trouble," Ursula added.

Robin and Fado said nothing.

"Man, you guys are no fun," the witness said, scowling away from the entire court.

"Witness, your testimony?" the judge insisted.

"Fine," he sighed, "Lemme see. It was a pretty normal day, other than the fact that we were booked solid the whole day through. One of the busiest times I've ever seen, in fact. I say 'one of,' because, there was this day about a year and a half ago when the exalt's little sister came to town and, hoo, boy! You shoulda seen how full up we got when—"

"Witness!" Ursula slammed her fist on her desk. "Please, restrict your testimony to matters relevant to the case at hand!"

"Right, right," he said, shrugging, "so, anyhow, I was busting my hump the whole day, just going back and forth from the kitchen, and it was super hot inside, because there were orders coming out all the time. I wasn't waiting the tables on the side of the room where the victim or defendant were eating, so I didn't really see what was going on with 'em, or what they were up to. Honestly, if the police hadn't shown me pictures, I might not have even remembered them at all. See, like I said, it was burning up in there, so right before the blackout, I went into the lounge to take a breather. I got kinda dizzy, so I might've blacked out myself, even! Haha! Then I woke up with the café's chef leaning over me, and he filled me in. After that, Amelia and I held down the exits to make sure no one left until the police got there to manage the situation."

"So, you can see," said Ursula, "despite the fact that the witness is something of a ditz, he reports the same facts as the other server with no discrepancy."

"Robin?" Fado looked down at his pupil.

"Oh, no worries," the young attorney replied, "that one was easy to spot."

"Good lad."

"It's all thanks to 'entropy.'"

"Righto."

"It seems like you have something to add, Mr. LeBlanc," said the judge.

"Yes, Your Honor," Robin said, facing down the prosecutor across from him, "I object to the prosecution's last statement!"

"Excuse you?" Ursula replied, lowering her brow at him.

"Ms. Verra, you just said that the witness reported the same facts as Ms. Arealla 'with no discrepancy.'"

"And?"

"And that's not true. There is a clear and glaring contradiction between their two testimonies: Mr. Willow claims that he entered the employee lounge shortly before the blackout and may have briefly fainted. Ms. Arealla, on the other hand, claimed that she heard Mr. Willow's footsteps not only moments before the blackout, but _during_ it."

"Then Ms. Arealla must have misspoken. That's clearly impossible."

"Oh? So, what did she mean, then? Or are you claiming she heard someone else's footsteps? The latter would further contradict the prosecution's claims!"

Ursula's glare stabbed into Robin. It was like being hit with a blast of cold air, seeing the expression on her face at that moment. Had he actually managed to dig into her a bit? Either way, whatever feeling of victory he could derive from that moderate success disappeared when she spoke again. She shook her head. "I understand this must be very exciting for you, Mr. LeBlanc, but please, don't go proclaiming your victory just yet." She tapped her finger on her arm as she thought aloud: "It occurs to me that we have been presented with a problem. You posit your argument on an apparent contradiction between the two testimonies of these servers, Mr. LeBlanc. The next logical question to ask is 'Why does this conflict exist?'"

"Yes, and—"

"Quiet! I'm not finished speaking yet, boy. Now, your deduction is most likely that this somehow represents evidence of another party being involved in the affair?" Robin winced. "Don't look so surprised," she went on, "I know your mentor's tactics quite well. Instead of jumping to negative conclusions by using an absence of positive proof, allow me to present the court with a more logical supposition: one of our fine witnesses is not being entirely honest."

Mutters rang out through the court, and Fado pinched his chin. "What is she doing?" the senior attorney wondered, "She knows full well that saying that undermines her case, too."

"Could… could she have known their testimonies were going to conflict?" Robin stammered.

"If so, she's given this even more thought than I could've anticipated," Fado replied. His features were sharp and dark.

"Mr. Willow," Ursula continued, "you are causing this court considerable trouble. Tell me something, and do be honest: did you go into the employee lounge before the blackout?"

"Y-Yes. Er, well… I mean… I… I think… I did?" The waiter was rubbing his neck fitfully, sweat already gathering on his forehead.

"Oh, but you said it with such confidence before," Ursula said with a mocking voice, leaning over her desk, "Why the sudden uncertainty?"

"Er, that's 'cause… well, y'see, this is all just a funny misunderstanding…"

"Witness… the truth, if you please, or you'll learn what the Blue Crow does with creatures left dead in the water…"

"Eek! I… I was out of it around then, okay? I… I can't really remember what happened. I was tired, and hot, and… and I didn't know what was going on or what I was doing! I went toward the employee lounge and… I remember waking up there, but…"

"The witness experienced heatstroke," Ursula finished for him, "irrationality or lapses in memory due to temporarily limited brain functioning are not unheard of in such cases. It's entirely possible that Mr. Willow merely stumbled around in confusion after the blackout, and only then made his way into the lounge, wherein he finally fainted." The prosecutor took a little bow. "What do you think of my reasoning, Your Honor?"

"I must say, your work is impeccable as always, Ms. Verra," the judge said, stroking his beard, "You are quite the skilled logician."

"Much gratitude, Your Honor," she said, "And, if there were to be any question of deduction, I would like to present this report to the court: a medical examiner who attended to the witness that same day gave the same diagnosis that I arrived at in my analysis."

Robin took a copy of the report and looked it over. She was right: the doctor had diagnosed Forde Willow with heatstroke and advised him to take the following day off for bedrest and a steady supply of fluids. Symptoms noted included overheating sensation, shortness of breath, difficulty with brain functioning, and agitated behavior. _Agitated behavior?_ He looked through more of the report and found an explanation: an abrasion had been discovered on Forde's neck that the doctor had suggested came from Forde accidentally choking himself with his shirt collar while desperately attempting to remove it. The police had made a note of the shirt, left inside-out on the floor of the room.

"I'll be damned," Fado said, his voice regaining some of its humor, "She got us good. What do you make of it, lad?"

"It explains a lot… but I don't buy it," Robin said.

"Ho ho, so soon? I must be rubbing off on you."

"Well, I don't have a lot of direct evidence for this, but something here strikes me as odd: Ursula said Forde might have stumbled around before passing out, not quite knowing what he was doing, but Amelia made note of how coordinated the footsteps she heard were. If Ursula wants to discredit Forde's testimony, then Amelia's must be true, which still leaves us with a question."

"You're sinking your teeth deep into the details now, my boy. Good work. How do you think we proceed?"

"Ursula is trying to confuse us by pulling something we wouldn't expect: she deliberately disadvantaged herself to cover up a point we made, but now we have the opportunity to retaliate."

"Listen to you." Fado gave him a slanted grin. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you had an idea what you're talking about."

 _Let's hope the jury is similarly duped_.

"Mr. LeBlanc," said the judge, "do you have any response to the prosecution's remarks? Or are you in agreement with their conclusions?"

"New testimony means I have the right to a re-cross, Your Honor," Robin told him, "I'd like to ask the witness some more questions."

"Of course, by all means."

"Mr. Willow, I hope you know you've put yourself in a very bad spot by saying these things." Robin tried hard to make his eyes menacing.

"H-Huh? What do you mean?" The witness was wiping sweat from his forehead.

"If we can't rely on your testimony about going to the employee lounge, then we can't rely on your alibi about being in there, either, can we?"

"W-What?! Please, back up that train of thought!"

"Ursula said you experienced heatstroke, but that came from the description of your symptoms to a doctor after the fact, right? If that's true, then what's to say you didn't just make it up?"

"Gah…! I… I didn't! Really, I promise! I swear, I got overheated and passed out in the lounge!"

Robin shook his head. "According to the prosecution, your testimony can't be trusted, even if you yourself believe it. We can only rely on the testimony of Ms. Arealla, who heard her coworker's footsteps moving after the blackout, the only time the crime could have been committed, thanks to the surveillance cameras."

"What? No, no, no. Not good. Hey, Ms. Prosecutor Lady, please, help me!"

"I cannot dismiss the possibility brought up by the defense," Ursula said. Forde's head sank and he muttered to himself. "However, if the defense wishes to pursue this line of reasoning, they must be aware that they are making a very serious accusation. Let's not mince words, Mr. LeBlanc: are you formally indicting Forde Willow with the murder?"

 _If Amelia's story is true, and it really isn't Pelleas, then the only other option is Forde. No one else had any opportunity to poison Leila during that blackout. Still, I'd better be cautious. I've been thinking I'd found ways around Ursula's reasoning several times already, and every time she's managed to spring some kind of trap on me. She might have been counting on me taking this approach, and, in that case, she might just be waiting to put the final nail in all this. At the same time, if I don't do something decisive here, I may lose my chance of swinging the momentum of this trial back in my favor. What can I do? It's one trap or another… unless… unless there's something else that can get me out of this sink. That's right, there's one element of the scene that I've heard about but hasn't been investigated yet. Maybe that's my ticket out of this._

The judge quieted the murmur in the court with his gavel. "Mr. LeBlanc, I would also have your answer. Do you plan to formally indict the witness?"

"I'd like to ask the witness one more question before making my decision, Your Honor."

"Go on."

"Mr. Willow, this is going to end badly for you if it keeps on in this way. I'm giving you a chance right now, so think hard: is there someone who can account for your whereabouts during the blackout?"

The waiter pinched his chin and cocked his head to the side. "Someone else… someone who can… Oh! Oh! There totally is! Yes, there is someone!" His face lit up with joy as he realized it.

"And who would that be?" Robin asked.

"Why, the chef, of course," he answered, "Dozla Spokony!"

Ursula grimaced. "Ugh, not _that_ idiot…!"

"Your Honor, in the interest of fairness to the witness, I will not indict him until I hear testimony regarding his whereabouts from Mr. Dozla Spokony."

"Very well." The judge pounded the desk with his gavel again, "Does the prosecution require time to prepare?"

"Regrettably, Your Honor," Ursula said through a strained scowl, "The witness was not kept in custody, due to his testimony having little to do with the crime. It will take some time to summon him."

"Then this court will take a thirty-minute recess. I trust this will provide adequate time to bring the witness here and prepare him for questioning?"

"Yes, Your Honor. Thank you."

The judge rapped his gavel once more. "Court is now in recess."

[April 17th, 12:20 pm, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 1]

Robin pushed his fingers into his temple as he sat on the couch, thinking things through. It was only a moment before he heard his mentor's heavy footsteps following him and looked up.

"Well now," Fado said with a bigger grin than usual, "You seem to be doing just fine for your first trial, my boy, just fine. What do you think? Is it like you imagined."

"I feel like my heart is going to leap out of my throat every time I open my mouth to speak."

Fado laughed at the ceiling, big shoulders shaking. "You're more like me than you know, son. Don't worry, those jitters will die down a little with time. So far, I'm impressed with how you've been holding your own. Prosecutor Verra certainly isn't pulling any punches with you."

"If you say so. It feels like I'm playing a big game of cat and mouse with her. No matter what I say, she's always got something ready for it. I'm worried that I don't have any way to break down her arguments without bolstering more of them."

"A wise man once said, 'argument is meant to reveal the truth, not to create it.'"

"And what does that mean, exactly?"

"It means that being foiled by your opposing counsel is all part of the trial experience, boy. If the conclusion to the question of the day were so obvious that you could find it in one go, there'd be no need for a trial. Instead, we have two sides with competing explanations struggling against each other to show whose conclusion is more rational. So, focus on that more than the prosecutor herself: her arguments are just incorrect retellings that you have to explain away."

"It's a lot simpler in theory."

"That it is, lad."

"What do you think the chef will have to say? Can he really validate Forde's alibi?"

"Couldn't say as I know. I liked the look on Ursula's face when she realized she would have to call on him though, heh heh! Whether he verifies the alibi or not, you'll have some new tools to work with, so I think you did well."

"Thanks, sir. And thanks for being here with me. I know for sure I'd be sunk without you around."

"Ha! You think I'd let my junior employee flounder by himself on his first trial? No, you'll find your own path soon, but for now, you still need some guidance. I'll be here to provide that until then."

"I wonder when that'll be…"

"Sooner than you'd think, I imagine."

"Are you getting at something, sir?"

"Just that you're a very competent employee so far, son."

Robin frowned. "I'm not quite as good at reading people as you are, sir, but I can tell a blatant lie when I hear one. Is something wrong?"

Fado tilted his head. "Wrong? No, nothing's wrong. I have some bigger plans on the way."

"Interesting. Care to fill me in?"

"These plans don't concern you just yet, son. When you get a little more experience under your belt, then we'll need to have a long conversation, but for right now, you just need to concentrate on being the best lawyer you can be, all right?"

"If you say so, sir."

"Here's a simple question for you, though: if I were to go away on a kind of retreat for a few weeks, do you think you'd be able to handle the office while I'm away?"

"Not really… I'm only just learning the ropes, and with all the clients you get, I don't know how I could ever…"

The senior attorney looked away. "Heh. Going to have to delay my vacation a bit longer, then. Oh well. I suppose I predicted as much."

"I'm sorry if it's a problem, sir. I want to do whatever you ask, but I'd be worried about ruining your reputation with my inexperience."

"Not to worry, son. You make a fair point. Like I said, we'll get you through a few more trials, let you find your footing, and then I'll take my little time off."

"Of course, sir," Robin said, eyeing his mentor suspiciously.

"Pardon me." They heard a voice from behind both of them, and Fado shuffled out of the way to find a spot on the sofa beside his employee. "The bailiff ushered me out here. I wondered if I could speak to you."

"Absolutely," Robin said, "Please, Mr. Apoleus, as your attorney, I'd be happy to discuss anything with you."

"Thank you, Mr. LeBlanc," the defendant said, taking a seat in an armchair across from him, "With that said, may I speak candidly for a bit?"

"By all means."

"Initially, I was very concerned about your qualifications. In fact, I still am."

 _Ouch. For such a timid-looking guy, he sure doesn't mind straight talk._

"However, I do realize what a difficult position I've placed you in, and I apologize. I know it can't be easy to defend someone with practically no alibi."

"That's for me to worry about, not you, Mr. Apoleus. Please, don't apologize. We're going to figure this out, one way or another."

"So, knowing Ylissean law to be what it is, do you have another suspect in mind? Do you really intend to accuse that waiter?"

"Knowing the law to be what it is… what do you mean by that, exactly?"

"He's talking about the Culpability Substitute Clause, Robin," Fado chimed in, giving Robin a glare to suggest that he should have already known this.

"That's right," Robin recalled, "In order to fully acquit a defendant in a criminal trial, defense attorneys must prove the defendant's innocence by virtue of building a case against another party, or, in some cases, by attributing it to an accident or suicide. Well, you should know that I don't have any evidence that directly incriminates Mr. Willow, Mr. Apoleus."

"I see." He winced noticeably. "That is regrettable."

"However," Robin continued, his voice apologetic, "I'm growing increasingly more convinced that something isn't quite the way it seems, I'm just trying to figure out what it is, exactly."

"Feelings and senses seldom capture the public's attention, however," Fado reminded him with an instructive undertone to his voice, "For now, you need to concentrate on showing the court how it was impossible for Mr. Apoleus to have committed the crime. If you can do that, finding a scapegoat is secondary. It can be anything incidental, we just have to keep the heat off the defendant."

Robin cocked an eyebrow. "Er, with all due respect, sir, that's not really good enough for me, either. I want to make sure the person getting put away is the person who really committed the crime."

This provoked a broader-than-usual grin from Fado. "I knew there was something I liked about you, kid."

"…Thanks?"

"Welcome."

"Well… er, Mr. Apoleus," said Robin, "If it's all right with you, I'd like to take a moment to ask you about some of the case, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," the ambassador replied, "Anything I can do to help."

"Right, so, you and the victim, Ms. Viscount, you agreed to meet at this place beforehand, right?"

"Yes, about a week in advance. It was official business, so I notified all the employees in my office that I'd be out around that time."

"As an ambassador, do you meet a lot of people out of the office?"

"Not all too often. Most of my job is sifting through mail, whether of the handwritten or electronic variety. I help resolve disputes on small criminal issues and decide whether or not to grant certain amnesties. As per my meeting with Ms. Viscount, I also engage in the exchange of information between Ylisse and Plegia, especially sensitive documents and the like."

"Sensitive documents, eh? There would happen to have been any of those present on the day of the crime, would there?"

Pelleas swallowed. "Not at all. They were all quite boring. Updates to agricultural regulations, mostly."

"Mr. Apoleus," Robin said, straining his brow, "I don't think it's a very good idea to lie to your own attorney. Especially when you don't seem to be very good at it."

"W-What? I don't know what you mean. I told you the absolute truth!"

"In the trial, you said the case you took with you was full of reports on illicit trading. Now it's agriculture? Which is it, Mr. Apoleus?"

"I-It's both."

"From your tone of voice, I don't believe you."

"W-Well, that's rather inconvenient. In fact, I'm a bit upset that you'd doubt me, your own client. Why would I not be fully transparent?"

"Happens more often than you'd think," said Fado, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table in front of him.

"As attorney and client, our level of trust is a two-way street, Mr. Apoleus. I'm willing to believe in your innocence, but you have to be entirely honest with me if you want any chance of succeeding in this trial."

"But… what makes you so sure I'm not being honest?"

"You're acting pretty anxious for someone just telling the truth. Moreover, there's something you said in the trial that's been bothering me for quite a while, a remark that went totally unnoticed."

"Hm?"

"When you were talking about how you and the victim would sometimes get into arguments, you said something about your father, but you never elaborated on it. What was that about?"

Pelleas hesitated, and his eyes seemed to sink beneath his brow, getting darker. "Mr. LeBlanc… you have to understand that what I'm about to say isn't public knowledge… If word gets out, it could spark an international incident. That's why I'd like to keep this under wraps."

"Mr. Apoleus… Right, I understand. Please, tell me what this is about."

"As you wish, although this may take a few minutes… My father—that is, my stepfather, Ashnard Daein, was… shall we say, a political activist in Ylisse. He wasn't a fan of the direction the country was going, and he held frequent demonstrations with other like-minded individuals who were opposed to Ylisse creating more cordial relations with Plegia. Their group kept growing more and more radical until, eventually, their demonstrations became violent, and Ashnard, er, my father was branded a criminal. Feeling rejected by the country he claimed to fight for, he did the only thing he thought was right under the circumstances… allegedly, anyway."

"Allegedly? What in the world did he do?"

"He assassinated the king of Plegia. So an investigation determined, anyway."

" _What?!_ " Robin leapt off the sofa.

"My stepfather assassinated King Abdiel Weissman of Plegia. That's what the investigators said, anyway."

"No… the king?" Robin's jaw hung open.

"Don't tell me you didn't hear about it, Robin," Fado said, frowning.

"On the contrary," he replied, "It was all anyone talked about for years. I just had no idea that he had a son. Or stepson, as it were."

"Ashnard was tried by a Ylissean court the very next day and hanged shortly after he was found guilty. Unfortunately, no one was particularly satisfied with that resolution—not Ylisseans or Plegians, and so, even after his death, the weight of the sins of the father have been laid squarely upon the son."

"Ah… I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Apoleus."

"Don't trouble yourself over it. It's something I've dealt with for quite some time."

"But, if you don't mind my asking, what does that have to do with Ms. Viscount, or the documents you received?"

"Ah, y-yes, that's the thing… You see, included with the usual mix of regulatory papers, Leila had snuck in an independent investigation she'd commissioned from a man living in Ostia. The result showed evidence strongly indicating that Ashnard hadn't really killed the king."

"R-Really?! But that's great news for you! Why keep that secret?"

"The group that my stepfather led… they were only emboldened by his execution. They've attacked Plegians and Ylisseans alike, and their following has grown in the years since then. If it were to come out that Ylisse had executed an innocent man, the effects on Ylisse could be catastrophic. Not to mention, Plegians would be livid that Ylisse had failed to give them justice. It would spark an uproar that would mean the end of my career at best and the beginning of a war at worst."

Robin swallowed hard. "That's… a pretty compelling reason, I suppose. But wait, then what were you and Leila fighting over?"

"Despite my telling her exactly what I just told you, she was berating me for not having the courage to tell the public the truth. Even when I told her it wasn't so simple, she just kept on about it, so I asked her to stop, and I… may have raised my voice in the process."

"I take it your other arguments were on a similar subject."

Pelleas nodded.

Robin sat back down. "Well… this complicates matters pretty substantially."

"I'll say," Fado agreed.

"I guess there's only conclusion we can draw from all this, huh?"

"Go on," Fado said, turning to face his pupil with eyes full of interest.

"If Leila had that information, and she was giving it to Pelleas, but she ended up dead… I'd be willing to bet gold to grapes that someone didn't want that transfer to happen. Do you know what became of the case, Mr. Apoleus?"

"I haven't seen it since I was arrested. I understood it was seized by the police as evidence," the blue-haired ambassador answered.

"But no one brought it up," Robin finished his thought, "So there's some argument to be made that I'm not _way_ off-base."

"Yeah, but try bringing it up with no context." Fado laughed. "Ursula'll have a field day."

"Right, so what do we do?"

"Keep going like you were. Work backwards until we have a leg to stand on. So, someone didn't want the info to get to Pelleas. Who? Why?"

"It'd have to be someone with an interest in Ylisse-Plegia politics. Maybe they didn't want the results of Leila's investigation to get out. Or maybe they wanted to make the revelation themselves and sow chaos in both countries."

"Equally valid but mutually exclusive deductions, my boy. Which do you think is more likely?"

"Well, the murder happened some time ago, and we haven't heard anything yet. My guess is they just wanted to keep it quiet."

"Good thinking. So, what does that tell us?"

"Not much. The members of Ashnard's group would definitely want the truth to get out, and so would just about anyone else I can think of… at least on paper. Maybe there was a government official who was worried Pelleas was actually going to take Leila's advice."

"Now there's a thought. Certainly makes our situation that much more interesting, but who do you suppose would do that? And why wouldn't they just speak to Pelleas, if that's the case?"

"Maybe the person was Plegian, and whatever their endgame, it was to ultimately serve Plegia, so directly contacting a Ylissean ambassador wouldn't be a good move. As for who would be in such a situation, I haven't got a clue. If any of this is leading up to something, it's something far greater than I can fathom right now."

"Well, why not ask the ambassador?" Fado said, lifting his hand to gesture at the young, blue-haired man.

"Good point," Robin agreed, "Mr. Apoleus, do you know any Plegians who might have been especially interested in getting their hands on that information?"

"Several, if they knew about it," Pelleas answered, "but few who would choose to withhold it afterward."

"Anyone in particular?"

"My knowledge of the Plegian criminal world is somewhat limited, but, if memory serves, Abdiel Weissman had a son who became a bit of a ruffian when his family was removed from the palace."

"That's right," Fado thought aloud, "Weissman had a son, but he never inherited the throne."

"He was pushed out when the Reformation Government was installed, right after the assassination," Robin added, "It was a big point in Plegian political history: the constitutional monarchy they'd established gave way to a more theocratic system, as the leader of the Plegian clergy at that time was installed in Abdiel's place."

"Still… would Abdiel Weissman's son want to _hide_ the identity of his father's killer?"

Robin shook his head. "It doesn't really add up, does it?"

"It doesn't. And moreover, we're getting a bit off-track. Let's bring those lofty conspiracy theories back down to the level of this trial: who would've tried to intercept the message? Or, more accurately, who _could have_ intercepted it?"

"Technically, anyone in the café, but the prosecution has claimed over and over that only the waitstaff were moving at the time."

"But we're about to see whether or not that holds true."

"Right. A lot is depending upon that next testimony. I wonder what the chef will be like…"

"In my experience," Fado said, leaning forward and pressing his index finger into his forehead, "There's only two types of chefs: big, hairy guys who laugh at everything and thin-as-a-rail strict types who hurl insults like baseballs."

"What about women?"

"Most fit into Category Two."

"Which one do you think we'll get?"

"It's a café, so my guess is a thin-as-a-rail type."

 _Great. I really needed a lot more insults flying around today._

They were all distracted by a buzzing that came from Fado's pocket. He peered down at the screen and then met both their eyes apologetically before raising the phone to his ear. "What's the story?"

He listened and nodded.

"No, we're still at the trial. Yeah, quite a bit longer. Yep, looking like one of those days. Hm? Oh! Heh, he's doing just fine. He really warms up once he gets into the courtroom, heh heh! Uh-huh. Yeah? Oh, I hear you. Don't worry, I will. Ha ha! Nothing, nothing. All right. What? Of course, use my card. Yes, absolutely. I'll give you a call when we're finishing up. All right. Thanks, doll." Fado ended the call and stowed the phone back in his pocket. "That was my secretary, Anna," he said to Pelleas, "She wanted to make sure we hadn't gotten lost, ha ha!"

"She worries after Fado like crazy," Robin added, "She calls him all the time when we're away from the office."

"She likes to keep an eye on me for my wife's sake. If you want the truth, I think she pays Anna a little bonus to spy on me." Fado let out another bolt of laughter. "And she wanted me to wish you good luck on her behalf, Robin."

"Really?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Funny, I had it in my head that she didn't like me very much."

"That may well be. Could be she's only being polite." Fado laughed again as if this was greatly amusing.

 _Sure. Dash my hopes of having a good relationship with my only coworker. That's hilarious, Fado._

"Well," Fado continued, sitting back into the sofa, "I think we've made some good progress, and I'm glad to see you looking a lot less nervous, lad. I think, with enough work, we can turn this trial right around. We're just missing a few more pieces."

 _Pieces like "who, what, when, how, and why," yeah. Nice and easy. And what does he mean by progress? We're right back where we started before we left the courtroom! We still need to hear the testimony to find out if Amelia or Forde was telling the truth, and then we have to figure out what that means for our case quickly, or we're done for._

"You look worried, son," Fado told Robin, smiling at him, "There's no need to despair. You should be busy reviewing the evidence we've collected so far. Once you've got it all in your head, you should be able to start making the connections you'll need in order to win this trial."

"I wish it were as easy as that," said Robin.

"Let me give you a tip," his mentor went on, "remember what you did just a bit ago: you recalled a bit of minor information that Pelleas let slip early on in the trial, and you used it to drag a bigger truth out of him because the situation you had uncovered thus far re-contextualized that minor information. That's where you should be focusing your efforts: knowing what you know, does the meaning of anything you _thought_ you knew suddenly change?"

"…Fado, if you know the answer, you don't have to be so cagey."

"Ha ha! I don't know a thing more than you do, boy. I'm giving you ways to think about the trial, that's all."

 _Only Fado could be so confident about not knowing anything._

Suddenly, the three turned their heads as a guard opened the door to the court. "Defense, court will reconvene in a few minutes. Please head inside."

They rose up from their seats and walked to the door.

[Turnabout Collapse ~ Trial Mid—end]


	15. Turnabout Collapse: Trial Latter

[April 17th, 12:51 pm, District Court-Courtroom No. 1]

The air was sharp as both counsels reentered the courtroom. Chatter between members of the gallery hummed and droned like an electrical buzz as they took their positions and looked up at the judge, who was watching the lawyers enter. When he saw that they were both prepared, he slammed his gavel down on his desk and called for order.

"Court will now reconvene for the trial of Pelleas Apoleus," he announced, "When we left off, Ms. Verra, you were entrusted with preparing a witness for further examination. Is that witness now prepared?"

"Y-Yes, Your Honor," she stammered, "but please forgive the witness a bit of… eccentricity. He's not from this country, and some of his manners are not quite befitting a court."

"That is of no concern. Please bring the witness forward so that we may continue."

Urusla did as she was told while Robin and Fado exchanged glances. When they looked back to the witness stand, a broad-figured man with a thick mane of forest-green hair stood before them. "Mane" was not an exaggeration, either—his entire face was encircled by this thick hair, not the least of which coated his chin in an impressive beard and finely-tailored mustache. His pupils were small, a bit wild-looking, and he had a prominent beak of a nose that hung out like a stony gargoyle watching over the aforementioned mustache. Frankly, the man looked ridiculous. The fact that he happened to be wearing his grease-stained apron (presumably from working at the café) only accentuated that fact, as it only drew more attention to his rotund figure. Still, he seemed to be in somewhat good spirits about the whole thing, looking at both counsels with amusement in his eyes.

"Name and occupation for the record, witness," Ursula commanded.

"I'm Dozla Spokony," the green-maned man told the court at a much higher volume than Ursula, "I'm the cook and the owner of the Posto Ladro Café. A little birdie tells me you folks need little ol' me to help you answer some questions."

"That's right," said the judge, "some important contradictions have appeared in certain testimonies, and it is this court's hope that yours can resolve them."

"Hah! It wouldn't be the first time, old boy! Looks like ol' Dozla's gotta save the day all over again!"

"Yes, so, Mr. Spokony, if we may—" Ursula was quickly interrupted.

"I was just tellin' the prosecutor-lady over there how lucky she is to have to mighty Dozla in her corner! Ah ha ha ha! I mean, here I was, just finishin' off a late breakfast for the missus, then, all of a sudden, I got police bangin' on my door! I tell, ya, ol' Dozla figured it was some old debt finally catchin' up on him! Imagine my surprise when I found out they want me to testify! Wah ha ha ha!"

"Mr. Spokony, if we could…"

"Normally, I'd'a slammed the door in their face then and there, but here was this pretty young prosecutor girl, and she was throwin' orders left and right—reminded me of a girl I used to work for. What can I say, I'm a sucker for pretty gals that know what they like! Ha ha ha ha!"

Robin watched this display with nothing short of incredulity written on his face. _Geez, if he keeps this up, he might even beat Fado in his laughing quotient for the day_.

Fado had his arms folded and his cheeks tight in a smile of restraint.

"Mr. Spokony!" Ursula slammed her hands on her desk, "That will be quite enough of your rambling! This is a criminal trial, and you will take it seriously!"

"Wah ha ha! Whatever you say, lass!" He grinned at her.

Ursula scoffed and looked around the room before her eyes settled on Robin.

 _Don't look at me. You got yourself into this._

Ursula turned her head to the side, as if looking at the bearded man before her were too much at this point. "Your Honor, would you please bring the witness to heel?"

"Mr. Spokony," the judge said, tugging at his own beard, "while this court appreciates your enthusiasm, we do need to go on with the trial now, if you'd be so kind."

"Of course!" he said, placing his fists squarely against his hips, "I'll get right down to testifyin' whenever you folks are ready!"

Settling down, Ursula faced him again. "Mr. Spokony, will you tell the court what you witnessed on the day of the blackout—the day of Ms. Viscount's death?"

"You got it!" he exclaimed with a nod, "Right, well, that day was a scorcher, for sure. Inside the kitchen, that is—outside it was stormy. Maybe a little humid, but just that _kind_ of humidity that makes for those big showers and lightning that arcs across the sky—know what I mean? Makes a man's blood boil, ha ha! Anyhow, I was workin' in the kitchen just like normal, and you wouldn't believe how hot it gets when you gotta wear three hair nets at once! It was a busy day, then, and I hardly left the kitchen except to do my business and clean up every once in a while. It wasn't 'til I saw ol' Forde stumble into the lounge that things started picking up. His face was pretty pale; I guessed he musta spent another night drinking too much. Real social butterfly, that one. So, anyway, time marches on and the lights went out, but I went on cooking for a bit—so many orders! Anyway, we've had electric problems in the past. I figured a bulb had just gone out over my head, so I kept at it, but I had to stop when it got so dark that I just couldn't see. I wandered into the dining room and bumped into Amelia. Poor girl was worryin' her head off, and she told me that the lights in the whole building had gone off! Ha, and I had no idea! Well, bein' the only man in the place with half a brain for this sorta stuff, I figured it mighta been a problem with the breaker. Sure enough, I went into the lodge, unlocked the breaker, and switched it back on and—bam! Let there be light! And that's the tale of how Dozla saved the day for the 1,872nd time! Ah ha ha ha! Er, well, and then there was the whole thing with the murder… I was the one who called the police, too. After I made that call, I had Forde guard the rear exit while I took the front so no one could get out. Thankfully, the back door stays locked during the day, so even if someone had tried getting out that way, it wouldn't have done 'em any good. It was a long day, altogether."

 _I hope that wasn't a real count, especially if that's what he considers "saving the day."_

"Now," Fado said, knocking Robin out of his own head, "I know the witness is quite a cut-up, lad, but don't let that distract you from the fact that he just said something important. I'd recommend following up ASAP."

"Right."

"Mr. LeBlanc, I believe it is now your turn to cross-examine the witness, if you're ready."

"I am. Thank you, Your Honor," Robin said, shifting his focus outward, "Mr. Spokony, there are a few things you mentioned in your testimony that I find very interesting. I'd like to ask you a bit more about them, if you don't mind."

"Hah! I may be a little older than you, lad, but you don't have to go gettin' all formal with ol' Dozla! Ask away!"

"First, I want to clarify, since you didn't mention it: did you see the victim's body?"

"That I did, lad," he said soberly, "that I did."

"Did you know the victim at all?"

"Sure as I'm alive, I did. Little Leila was a regular at my place. She came by a lot, especially on rainy days, like that one. She was always lookin' over some important stuff. After a few months of comin' in and not sayin' much to anyone, I walked over to 'er in a free moment and asked what she was up to, and she gives me a big ol' smile that warmed my heart. She tells me she works for the government and can't talk much about it, and I says that's fine, but then she says she's real glad someone interrupted her for a bit, on account of she was losing her mind, ha ha! Well, I went about tellin' her I was the cook and the place's owner, and she got real happy, thanking me for everything I'd made. She was a charmer, no doubt! Then she asks if I can make her biscotti, because she always used to have it with her coffee before her favorite place shut down. Well, we don't have biscotti on our menu, but I just couldn't say no to such a nice young lady, so I made it for her, and didn't she come back asking for it again the next day, ha ha! I been making her biscotti nearly every day since, and no one else. She's a dear friend. Or… she was, until this ugly business came about."

 _Looks like this was personal for Mr. Spokony. I'm surprised he didn't speak up right away. Maybe he was just to aggrieved to say anything when they asked for testimony. Poor guy. I hope asking that didn't upset him too much._

"Thank you," Robin said, "Next, I just want to verify that you said you saw Forde Willow enter the employee lounge before the lights went out, is that right?"

"Sure is, lad. Sure is."

"Then, clearly, the testimony of Amelia Arealla can't be taken as fact. We've just listened to the witness verify the fact that the only other person on the floor at the time of blackout was in the employee lounge at that moment. This would mean that Ms. Arealla may be lying to this court, which would place her in a very serious—"

"Objection!" Ursula extended her hand at the defense attorney. "Mr. LeBlanc, before you go getting ahead of yourself, please remember that I am not so foolish as to let anything that obvious slip by me. Mr. Spokony, please tell the defense what you told me about the state of the lounge when you entered it."

"Ah, right. The lounge was empty when I went in there, son. I figured Forde musta gone back to it."

"W-What?!" Robin started, "B-But that's…!"

Ursula wagged her finger at him. "Tut tut, Mr. LeBlanc. Such outbursts are unbecoming a proper lawyer. The fact is this: despite what he heard, the witness saw no one in the lounge when he entered to fix the lighting issue. Thus, we resolve all the defense's posturing at once—now, Amelia Arealla, Forde Willow, and Dozla Spokony's testimonies all line up perfectly. There can surely be no doubt that everything is as I and the police department deduced."

"Th-That… that can't be."

"And why not? Mr. LeBlanc, I admire your sense of dedication. You've done well to stand so long against a prosecutor appointed by the state. Even in failure, you may exit this courtroom with your head held high, but the fact of the matter is that you've lost. Prolonging things like this only reflects on you as desperate and sad. Don't tarnish your burgeoning reputation—give up, and accept the way things are."

 _D-Damn it! All this prep time, all that new information—was it a waste? Is there really nothing else I can say?_

"Take a deep breath, Robin."

"Fado?"

"Concentrate. She's trying to end this by getting in your head."

"But I've got nothing! I came this far, and we're still right back at the beginning—I don't have any evidence I can use against her! Everything I've done to try to move the focus around in this trial, she just closes the loophole like it's nothing!"

"Robin!" His voice became sterner. "You're panicking. Take a moment and collect your thoughts if you don't want to be overwhelmed."

"C-Collect my thoughts? But—"

"No 'buts!' That's an order from your boss!"

Robin did as he was told, swallowing a mouthful of air, letting it build in his chest, and expelling it slowly.

"Good," said Fado, "Now, let's think this through rationally. Right now, we've got two competing stories: one says that Ms. Arealla and Mr. Willow were both in the dining room when the murder happened. The other says that Mr. Willow was in the employee lounge at the time. There's no way both of those things could be true at the same time. So now, which one is true?"

"…I don't know. I thought Forde had to have been in the lounge, but now Mr. Spokony said he wasn't…"

"Don't be taken in by her cockiness, Robin. Think for a minute: didn't she present an earlier piece of evidence about Forde?"

"Ah. That's right, the medical examiner's report. But I don't see how that helps us…"

"Think a little harder. What did the report say, again?"

"Hm? Well, it diagnosed him with heatstroke, said he should get some rest and fluids, mentioned that his judgment might have been impaired for a bit, and said that he might have choked himself struggling to get his uniform off. Wait. Oh!"

"Got it now?" Fado was smiling.

"I… think so? If Forde took his uniform off, it was probably still in the room, right? In fact, I think I remember Ursula saying the police found it there."

"There you go. And that means?"

"If Dozla didn't see his uniform… then it wouldn't make sense that he had gone in before Dozla, right?"

"Sound logic to me. Much easier when you're thinking clearly, don't you think so, son?"

"If only it were that easy."

"It is if you make it. Go on, now. You're not afraid. You can do it."

"Right."

"Mr. LeBlanc," said the judge, "Are you finished deliberating with your co-counsel? Now would be the time to make any final thoughts known, or I'll have to render my verdict immediately."

"One more question for Mr. Spokony," said the young attorney, "Did you happen to see Mr. Willow's uniform on the floor when you entered the room?"

"Now that you mention it," the man tugged at his beard and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling, projecting the image of the room onto it, "No, I didn't see it until after the doctors came to check up on the kid."

"Are you satisfied, Mr. LeBlanc?" Ursula frowned at the defense.

Robin smiled and nodded. "I am. Objection!"

"Oh, not really… You can't be serious."

"Mr. Spokony, you just told the court that you saw Forde Willow enter the employee lounge before entering it yourself several minutes later. When you entered the room, however, you claim you didn't see his uniform, which, it was noted by both the police and the medical examiner who evaluated him, was lying plainly on the floor of the room. Therefore, I say your testimony is impossible!"

"Objection!" Ursula was scowling. "On what do you base that? How do you know the witness didn't re-enter the lounge and take the uniform off then?"

"That would contradict the medical examiner's report, which stated that he nearly choked himself trying to remove it while suffering from heatstroke."

"But… but, he could have simply thrown it off, picked it up and taken it with him when he recovered his senses, and then thrown it back on the floor later!"

"That'd be an oddly convoluted thing to do for no reason. What's more, it would also contradict the current witness's testimony. Mr. Spokony, you said you had Forde guard the rear exit as soon as you realized what happened, didn't you?"

"Sure did!"

"And he stayed at that position until the police arrived, which is when the uniform was collected as evidence."

"That's as true as can be."

Ursula flinched. She recovered by standing up straighter and brushing a lock of hair out of her face. "W-Well, that's all very good work, Mr. LeBlanc, but what do you intend to prove with all this?"

"Well," Robin said, folding his arms, "it has just been proven beyond a reasonable doubt that Forde did indeed enter the lounge before Dozla did, and yet, according to Dozla's testimony, neither he nor his uniform were present when he entered the lounge. Moreover, Amelia claimed she heard him walking around in the dining room when that would clearly be impossible."

"Yes, you've made a fine mess of good testimony. What of it?"

"There's something else Mr. Spokony mentioned that I'd like to ask him about."

"Wuh? Again? Uh, go ahead."

"You mentioned that the breaker you switched on was in the lounge, right?"

"Yep."

"And you had to unlock it to open it?"

"Yeah. Can't have kids or other people who don't know what they're doin' messin' around with electrical equipment like that."

"Are you the only one with the key to that breaker, Mr. Spokony?" Robin leaned forward, placing his hands on his desk.

Ursula groaned, "Oh, you are _not_ —"

"Nah. Amelia and Forde each have one, too, plus keys to the doors to lock the place up at night if I need to leave early."

Robin smiled. "Your Honor, I think I have a theory that could completely change the court's interpretation of these events."

"Really?" the judge said with wide-eyed interest, "Don't keep us in suspense, please!"

"See, up to now, everyone has been assuming that the café experienced a blackout because of the storm outside, but what if it was really caused by someone waiting for an opportunity?!"

"N-No way…!" Ursula grunted.

"Wh-What now?!" Dozla jumped up from behind the stand.

Chatter spread throughout the gallery.

"A most interesting theory, Mr. LeBlanc," said the judge, "I'm curious—"

"Objection!" Ursula slammed her fist on her desk, "Explain, right now! How in the world can you propose something so ludicrous? Why would someone have done something like this?"

Robin shook his head. "Having thoroughly analyzed the situation, this is the only possibility that makes sense. Among the three witness's testimonies, all three of them contradict each other in some way, but none of them possess any discernible motive to lie, except to implicate the others, but, in that case, at least two of the accounts should agree, and the third should stand out. Besides that, none of the staff have any reason to kill the victim! That someone else is involved is the only way we could have three separate accounts of how things happened!"

"I think you should have your head thoroughly analyzed, with that kind of logic! You honestly expect me and the rest of this court to believe that because the cook failed to notice a uniform, the _only_ logical possibility is that another figure was conspiring from the shadows all along?! Not that I really need to ask, but do you have _any_ _evidence whatsoever_ that might support this little theory of yours?"

Robin frowned. _Not a speck. I guess I should've known better than to fly off the handle like that_.

Fado smiled, looking down at his protégé. "Don't tell me you're throwing in the towel? Remember, the prosecution's evidence is your evidence, too. Shouldn't there be something else amiss if another person was present?"

Robin's eyes flashed. "That's it! I don't know what I'd do without you, Fado!"

"It's what I'm here for," the senior attorney said, folding his arms in satisfaction.

Robin looked back at Ursula. "I think I just might have the evidence you're after. I want to take a look at those security tapes you mentioned!"

"Objection! There's no use in doing that. The tapes cut out before the crime occurred. They can't tell us anything we don't already know."

"Objection! Ms. Amelia Arealla testified that the entire dining room was 'packed' most of the day, including the time when the victim and defendant were being served. What if we were to look on those cameras and spot an empty table? Or, better yet, a table with food or drinks, but no one sitting there?"

"Why, that would mean someone had left their seat near the time of the crime…" the judge said.

 _Thanks for the assist, Your Honor_. "If we check the tapes, we can prove that someone else had the opportunity to kill the victim!"

"G-Gah!" Ursula doubled over.

"Bailiff," the judge commanded, "bring the monitor in. Get that footage playing right away!"

The bailiff sighed and wheeled a monitor into the room on a black cart. He plugged the monitor and a small DVD player into the wall and placed a disk inside the machine, listening to it hum as it started.

The clip shown portrayed the scene much as it had been described by the staff: the café was filled to the brim with patrons all chatting and drinking or eating, and the lone waiter and waitress scuttled through the room busily for minutes on end, attending to every table they could along the way. Suddenly, a man got up from his table and began walking. "Wait," Robin called out, "rewind a few seconds and look down there, at the bottom-right."

The video rewound and showed the same figure, a man dressed mostly in black with stringy blue hair and a pronounced nose watched Forde pass him by, then rose from his seat and walked to the back of the café, leaving a glass of water and a heel of bread unattended on the table.

"Right there!" Robin exclaimed, "Just as I thought: this man left the room right before the crime occurred! That means he could have just as easily committed the crime himself!"

"Objection!" Ursula shouted, "Just a moment! I will concede that this footage proves that someone left his seat prior to the crime, but I will not for a moment entertain the idea that he killed the victim. On what sort of evidence do you base a conclusion like that? How can you possibly prove where he went afterward?"

"Well, in order to prove it decisively, I'd need his testimony to compare…"

"Oh no, that trick won't work again. I won't bother asking the police department to go and round up another altogether innocent party because you're unable to adequately do your job! You will explain to me right now how you can claim that this man could have killed Ms. Viscount!"

"'Could have?'" Robin took a deep breath and nodded. "All right, I'll prove conclusively that this person had the means to kill the victim."

Ursula only growled a bit.

"Good to see you showing a bit more confidence, my boy," Fado said, "You're even taking me a bit by surprise, here."

 _That makes two of us._

"Just the same, are you sure you're ready to go ahead with this?"

"Yeah. I've thought about this case for a while now, and this is the only way things make any sense. I know this mystery person is guilty, I just have to prove that it was possible for him to be the killer instead, and I'll get a chance to question him properly. Then I can take him down."

"Ah, the ardor of youth. Warms these old bones, so it does."

Robin cleared his throat and addressed the court. "As I said before, there are three separate accounts of what happened at the time of the crime that conflict with one another in some way. The first came from Ms. Arealla, who claimed that she heard her coworker, Mr. Willow, walking around the dining room at the time of the crime. The easiest explanation to resolve this contradiction with the other two testimonies, which place Forde in the employee lounge, is to suppose that someone else was walking around at the time."

"But you can't prove that it wasn't Mr. Willow!" Ursula protested, "And even if it wasn't, you can't prove that this other person tried to poison the victim!"

"Hold it! The next contradiction is tougher to resolve: a delirious Forde Willow enters the employee lounge, suffering from heatstroke. Dozla sees him enter. In this time, he passes out and discards his uniform shirt. When Dozla returns and reactivates the breaker, he fails to notice Forde or his shirt in the now brightly-lit room. Regardless, Forde and his shirt both appear in that room after the fact. How could that be?"

"Clearly, one of them isn't telling the—"

"What if, after he lost consciousness, someone transported Forde to another room, say, the bathroom right across the hall, before the power was restored, and then returned him once the lights came back on?"

"Objection! 'What if' indeed! How could anyone have known that Mr. Willow would lose consciousness in the lounge?"

Robin shook his head. "They didn't."

"What?"

"You'll notice that before he heads to the back, our mystery patron glances at Forde, as if sizing him up. This person planned to render Forde unconscious as soon as he went back to the lounge, heatstroke or no. Being assaulted would also account for the abrasion on Forde's neck."

"But how could he have known Forde would enter at just that time?"

"He didn't have to. He watched to make sure Forde wasn't looking, then ducked into the room and waited for Forde to go there, prepared to take his chance whenever it came."

"Why in the world would he do something like that?"

"When Forde entered, the patron knocked him out to take his uniform, which he then donned as he hid the unconscious body elsewhere. He then used Forde's keys to unlock the breaker and shut off the lights. In the dark, with his face obscured, anyone could mistake this mystery patron for Forde Willow, giving him the chance to move about the dining room without being detected, even letting him approach the victim's table…"

"Just a minute! Are you honestly telling me that Mr. Willow failed to notice someone lying in wait for him in a room with no ostensible hiding spots?"

"It's as you described earlier, Ms. Verra: Mr. Willow's functioning and judgment were impaired, and his memory of the moment is hazy at best. If we can believe he almost choked himself to death trying to take off his shirt in a haze, is it any less likely he didn't notice someone waiting to grab him and knock him out? After all, the witness only specifically testified about feeling a tightness in his throat."

"N-No! But that…"

"The mystery patron, disguised as Forde, leaves the bathroom, Forde's body safely stowed therein. He then walks through the dining room, drops the poison in the victim's cup, and walks away, unnoticed, and returns to the bathroom. In this time, Dozla enters the employee lounge, opens the breaker, activates the lights, and goes back out to the dining room to speak with Amelia and, eventually, learn about the body. As he does so, the patron drags Forde back into the lounge, throws his uniform off in haste, and flees to the dining room to reintegrate with the other patrons in the confusion. When Forde regains consciousness, he is exactly where he remembers being, and so he rejoins the other staff and helps block the exits. What do you think of that, Ms. Verra?"

"I have a simple but very important question for you, Mr. LeBlanc," she said in reply, "The keyring for the circuit breaker also held the key to the front and back exits of the café. Why did this patron not simply unlock the back door, or, even more simply, run out the front door when he had the chance?"

"If he did, someone would realize what had happened. If he left out the front door, he would have been spotted and heard fleeing the scene just before the body was discovered, and if he used the key on the back door, he would have needed to either ditch the keys somewhere nearby or keep them on his person. In either case, someone would realize they had been moved, and would have put the pieces together."

Ursula grit her teeth, but remained silent.

"Ms. Verra," the judge said, "do you have any further questions?"

"I… I…" The prosecutor continued to stammer for several seconds more before slamming her fist on her desk and letting her hair hang low. The judge's eyes widened in concern, but before he could say anything, she lifted her head again. "No, Your Honor. Loath though I am to say it… I cannot conjure any reason to object to the defense's claim. I must concede that it is possible that another party was responsible for the murder of Leila Viscount. However, this means that the defense now has no choice but to indict this individual if they wish to proceed with their case."

Robin nodded. "I'm comfortable with that. I will formally indict the person shown leaving the dining room as soon as I know his name."

"Since records were taken of everyone present at the café at the time the police arrived, summoning this individual to testify on his own behalf will take some time, but can be done without fail. I would ask for another brief recess from His Honor."

"You shall most certainly have it," said the judge, "I can sense everyone in the court is wearing down a bit, as I'm feeling that fatigue myself. We will halt the proceedings for one hour, in which time the prosecution should prepare its witness. I strongly advise that both counsels also eat something and rest a bit. It wouldn't do to have a pair of exhausted attorneys carry out the end of this trial, would it?"

"No, Your Honor," both counsels replied.

"Good. Then this court is now in recess!"

[April 17th, 2:03 pm, District Court-Defendant Lobby No. 1]

"Heh. I expected this one to be complex, but despite all my years of experience, I never expected it to go on quite this long," Fado said, combing his fingers through his hair and, afterward, his beard, "The amount of effort you've put in so far has been frankly astonishing, Robin."

Robin didn't say anything.

"Robin? Lad?" his mentor repeated.

The young attorney was bent over a clutter of paperwork, although his eyes weren't moving. He sat and stared fixedly at the page with no response.

"I'm talking to you, son," Fado told him, slapping him firmly on the back, "As your boss, that means I need you to answer."

"Oh!" he jumped, "Sorry. I just… my heart is beating so fast after all that, I can hardly focus. I never thought I'd get this far, but now we're about to hear from a witness with almost no preparation… And he might very well be the one responsible. How do I go about handling this? He'll deny what I'm saying, of course, so how can I go about refuting him? It's a completely unknown element!"

"Easy, lad. You won't get anything done by letting your brain move a million miles a minute. You've got to keep thinking as clearly as you can, all right? You already have your set of facts, so stick to those for as long as you can. This is the pivotal moment in the trial: you've got your story, and the prosecution has theirs. All you have to do at this point is convince the jury that yours is more probable than hers, and that all comes together if you can make it look like our witness is being dishonest. Now, you truly believe Pelleas is innocent, don't you?"

"Of course. At this point, there's no doubt in my mind, especially after seeing that video."

"Then you've got everything you need. If Pelleas isn't guilty, then this witness is the only person who can be, so conduct your questioning from that perspective. Don't go all-out with your accusations, though: game the witness a little. Unless you're incredibly lucky, you're not going to get an outright confession on the stand. You'll just have to goad the truth out of him, little by little, until you get the jury on your side against him."

Robin took a deep breath. "Your experience really shows, Fado. Even in a situation as tense as this, here you are teaching me."

He grinned. "I've been in my fair share of tense situations, lad. This is just another teachable moment. You'll have to start getting used to this feeling."

 _That'll be awfully hard to do, although I really do appreciate Fado's help. I thought he was throwing me to the wolves by giving me this case, but I can see it all so clearly now, and it doesn't seem quite so untouchable. This must have been how he saw it from the start. Incredible, that he could size it up so quickly—it took me the entire trial to get to this point! Did he even figure out the bit about the real culprit? What I wouldn't give to have his skills… but that's a thought for later. That goal begins with the step of finally getting this trial figured out. There's only one obstacle left in my way, but what is he going to say in response to all this?_

"Mr. LeBlanc, a moment?"

Robin looked up from his page to see the dark-blue-encompassed visage of Pelleas Apoleus staring back at him. If he wasn't mistaken, Robin could swear he saw a smile tugging at the corner of the ambassador's cheek.

"Mr. Apoleus," Robin said, lifting his eyebrows, "Of course, is there something you wanted to say about the case?"

"Not this time," he replied, "you seem to have my thinking beat by several steps at this point. It's all I can do to keep up! No, this time, I simply wanted to extend my thanks."

"Your thanks? I hate to say it, but we haven't won yet."

"That's not quite what I meant. I meant for being my counsel in this trial. I mentioned my concerns about your qualifications earlier in this trial, but the fortitude of your defense hasn't waned even a little throughout this whole trial. You've believed in me when I felt that most everyone I knew had given up, and…"

Sensing the mood, Robin nodded. "No need to worry, Mr. Apoleus. It's my job to fight as hard for you as I can, and to stick with you in the roughest times. If not for belief in my clients, as a lawyer, I'd have nothing."

The ambassador now clearly showed a smile, albeit a rocky one that alternated with quick sniffles. "I told you about my father… for that reason, I've never been treated very well in public office, either. You know, it wasn't my idea to become ambassador. That was a part of my father's schemes. That's all I ever really was to him: a pawn. Something to be used and then discarded when he was finished. But now I've outlived him—the tool discards its owner. Life is cruel that way."

"Mr. Apoleus…?"

"Forgive me. Today has been an emotional day, and I fear all my bitterness is rising to the top along with my joy. I always wanted to take up a paintbrush and live out in the country. If you could do me the great service of setting me free, Mr. LeBlanc… I should like to pursue that dream."

"It's certainly a dream worth pursuing. I'll get you there, Mr. Apoleus. You have my promise."

"Thank you. Your confidence means everything to me. And I suppose I also ought to thank you, Mr. Verlaine."

"Who, me?" Fado laughed, "No need. I've only been giving tips, like a good mentor should. Robin has done everything he's done today on his own."

Robin nodded appreciatively at his mentor.

"Somebody order delivery?"

The three men turned their heads to the glass doors of the lobby as they swung shut. Beyond them, a redheaded woman carried several styrofoam containers in plastic bags hanging from her arms.

"Anna!" Fado jumped up to help her. "We certainly did. Come on, grab a seat. Mr. Apoleus, you may remember my secretary, Ms. Anna Vendise."

The redhead followed her employer over to the sofa and laid the containers on the table before them. Each of them opened a container to find an array of tantalizing food inside: in front of Robin, a chunk of ground beef slathered with cheddar cheese oozed juice from under a brioche roll. He picked it up hesitantly, not sure if he deserved the treat, but bit into it hungrily when both Fado and Anna gave him a nod.

As the group began to eat their food, Fado set about describing their exploits in the courtroom that day, making sure to emphasize Robin's successes and editorializing a bit about how confident the young attorney had been throughout all of the proceedings. Robin didn't feel particularly compelled to protest, especially with his cheeseburger never straying far from his mouth as they spoke, but he did find it a little strange that Fado was giving him so much credit in front of the only other employee in their office—Anna knew all about Robin, and she knew the person Fado was describing wasn't him. Still, just as curiously, she never really protested or tried to dig for details except when they pertained to the case. She just listened intently and picked bits of what Robin eventually realized were mixed fruits and chunks of chicken breast out of her box.

"And that brings us up to now." Fado concluded his explanation and swallowed a forkful of herb-crusted lamb.

"Wow," Anna remarked, "No wonder it's been such a long day. Good thing you guys have me or you'd have starved to death."

"Tell me about it," Fado said, patting his stomach.

"And hey, nice work, newbie," Anna continued, giving her coworker a playful glance across the table, "Sounds like you're doing the office proud."

"Er, thanks," said Robin. This was the first time he could recall her complimenting him since he started working for Fado's firm.

"I guess you're not a _total_ screw-up after all," she said between her teeth.

That was more what he had been expecting. Perhaps she was trying to act a bit more civil with the client sitting so close. Said client was deeply engrossed in a flaky spanakopita and unable to hear the jeer.

"Did you come all the way down here just to bring us lunch, Anna?" Robin asked, "Not that I don't appreciate it, but you're usually too busy for things like that."

"When the boss man calls, you pick up the phone," she said matter-of-factly, gesturing with her open palm to Fado, "He's the one that signs my paychecks, so if he wants me to grab him some lunch, I'll get him some lunch."

"I thought a little food and a familiar face might give you a little extra confidence boost before things get too serious," said Fado, smiling at his protégé.

"This is a delightful meal," Pelleas interjected, swallowing, "thank you for your consideration, Mr. Verlaine. And for your graciousness in bringing it to us, Ms. Vendise."

"Aw, no worries," Anna replied, giving the blue-haired man her biggest grin. She certainly wasn't shy about accepting praise.

"It's germane to our objective to have everyone in top condition," Fado continued, "Just make sure you digest everything well before we head into the courtroom. I've made that mistake enough times…"

"What was that, sir?" asked Robin, "You trailed off."

"Nothing, lad. Keep your chin up, and be ready for whatever's coming, all right? You know you have my full support in there."

"And mine, of course," Pelleas added.

Anna was about to eat another piece of chicken before she got a gentle nudge from her boss. "O-Oh, uh, yeah… Go get 'em."

While Anna was no help, to know that Fado and Pelleas acknowledged his ability did indeed give Robin a surge of confidence he hadn't quite been expecting. He now felt prepared to go and face whatever lie in the courtroom. He was ready to face the mystery witness, finally liberate his client, and return to the office a full-fledged lawyer. At last, he could be redeemed. The next chapter in his life all hinged on the next few hours.

[Turnabout Collapse ~ Trial Latter—end]


	16. Turnabout Collapse: End

[April 17th, 3:05 pm, District Court-Courtroom No. 1]

Both counsels settled back onto their respective benches as the gallery and jury seated themselves. The judge waited a few moments, gavel in hand, for the court to fall in line. When it seemed most of the commotion had died out, he swung his gavel and called for order. "Thank you. If everyone is prepared, then this court will now reconvene for the trial of Pelleas Apoleus. When we last left our deliberations, Ms. Verra, you were tasked with retrieving a witness for whom the defense provided a plausible method of enacting the same crime for which Mr. Apoleus is charged. Since Mr. LeBlanc has declared his intent to formally indict the witness, it will be crucial that we extract some testimony for him in his own defense in order to bring this trial to a proper conclusion. To that end, Ms. Verra, do you have the witness in your custody?"

"I do," the prosecutor said with an especially cold look in her eyes, "And I would ask him to approach the witness stand now." As a tall, dark figure rose from the gallery, Ursula directed her cold eyes at Robin, who tried his best to match her glare, but she didn't seem the least bit daunted. Robin chose to look away, adequately unsettled, and focused his attention on the man who was now standing in the center of the court.

He was a strikingly tall man, probably at least six and a half feet tall, and he wore slimming black clothing all around: black pants held in place with a silver buckle and a black vest with a dark undershirt. He was also terrifically slim along his legs and arms—his chest was clearly a bit more muscular, showing that he was in good shape. His hair was long and cobalt blue, tied into a loose ponytail beyond his shoulders. His eyes were narrow and sharp, he sported a distinctly large and rounded bridge to his nose, and two red rings hung from each of his ears. His left hand was decorated with a silver ring.

"Your name and occupation for the court," Urusla demanded.

"My name," the man said in a deep voice that seemed steeped in bitterness, "is Naesala Scaltro. I'm a retired pilot of the Plegian Air Force."

Robin stared at the man intently. This was the criminal. Or, at least, so it seemed. It had to be, for there was no remaining explanation that could liberate Pelleas. For some reason Robin couldn't yet glean, this was the man who had murdered Leila Viscount and passed the buck onto Pelleas. He certainly fit the bill in looks: everything about his posture and expression told the court how much he hated being there, and how little he thought of them. Somehow, Robin would have to break past that confidence and dig into this man until he cracked. Recalling his mentor's words about entropy, Robin thought to speak up. "Are you married, Mr. Scaltro?" Robin asked, pointing to the ring on his finger.

Naesala Scaltro raised his eyebrows, as if acknowledging the attorney for the first time. "Hm? This? No, this is a memento from a bond formed in earlier days."

"What sort of bond?"

"I signed a blood pact."

The whole court fell silent and stared at the witness. Even the judge seemed hesitant to say anything, and it was safe to say Robin had been thrown off.

Naesala laughed a loud and jeering laugh that echoed through the whole courtroom. "I'm kidding." He flashed the ring to everyone in the room. "It's a service reward for my years as a pilot. A bit like a class ring, but a little more valuable, since not everyone can get one."

"Mr. Scaltro," Ursula said, clearing her throat to indicate that she was wresting this conversation out of the defense's hands, "As you were told before you were called up here, the defense has presented a case against you, indicting you for the murder of Ms. Leila Viscount. In order to defend against this allegation, you will now be asked to testify as to your whereabouts and movements on the day of the crime."

"Sure," said the witness, pushing back some of his hair, "I've heard the lies this kid has been hawking, and I'm not too pleased about it, so I'll go ahead and set the record straight. This whole murder conspiracy is about the dumbest thing I've ever heard, and I've heard some pretty dumb stuff in my day. I didn't get up from my table to knock somebody out and cut the power and put on a uniform and go kill some broad I've never met, plain and simple. I got up because I had to use the bathroom. Is that really so hard to believe? And I stayed in there a while because my stomach hurt—maybe on account of what I had at that café. Anyway, when I realized the lights had gone out in the bathroom, I figured it was because of the storm, so I just waited to see if it'd get fixed. I didn't want to have to fumble around with my pants in the dark, you know? And I made the right choice, because those lights came back on right quick, and then I sat back down, only to learn someone was dead. So yeah, to heard that I'm getting accused of murder because I had to use the john? I'm not happy. I'm not happy at all."

Robin pinched his chin as he listened to the testimony. When it ended, he turned to find his mentor doing nearly the same. "Sir," he said, "any advice on this one?"

"You've got your theory of events," Fado said, "and you did a pretty good job setting it up. If you can show some way that the witness's actions correspond with your theory, you'll be in good shape. Of course, as of right now, that's not really possible. He clearly needs to be lying, though, right? So, look for anything you might be able to call him out on. Even something small and stupid might drive a big enough wedge that you can go a little deeper."

"That makes sense. Thanks."

"Good luck, son."

"Mr. LeBlanc, I think we're all eager to hear your cross-examination," said the judge.

"Right away, Your Honor," the young attorney answered, "Mr. Scaltro, let me start by asking this: do you really not know the victim or defendant at all?"

"Nope. Why should I? They're just two shmucks at a café."

"But Mr. Apoleus is Ylisse's ambassador to Plegia."

"And? I'm ex-military, kid. I don't give a pigeon's feathers about some dressed-up politician."

 _Clearly nothing doing there. If he knows about them, he's not about to spill it right now. Better ask about something else._

"You said you waited around in the bathroom, Mr. Scaltro—why?"

"Like I said, I didn't want to risk having to futz with my pants in a dirty bathroom when I can't see. These things cost me a ton."

"And would you have just stayed there the whole evening if the power hadn't come back on?"

"No, of course not, I just figured I'd wait it out to see if it was gonna be that big a deal. Turns out I was right and it wasn't."

 _Hm. Well, he's staunch about his statements, if nothing else. Still, there must be some detail he omitted that I can capitalize on somewhere in here._

"You say you only learned that someone was dead after you sat down, Mr. Scaltro? How? Didn't you see the body?"

"Not really. She might have been slumped over, but I wasn't really paying attention. I only really had my eyes on my seat until I got back there, and then, when I sat down, that's when people started gathering around, and I realized something was up."

"When the witness saw the body is irrelevant to this case, anyway," the prosecutor added, "Unless you have something substantial to say about it, I suggest we drop this line of questioning."

 _It doesn't look like this track is getting me anywhere, either. Guess I'll just let this one pass_.

"Er, so you didn't hear or see anything else on your way back from the bathroom, Mr. Scaltro?" Robin asked.

"Nah. Except the cook—I saw him talking to the waitress, but that was about it. After I left the bathroom, I just made a beeline for my seat, and that was all.

 _Darn. This is going nowhere. What he said lines up perfectly with the story as I presented it, so there's really nothing I can challenge him on, here. Shoot. What am I going to do? Every question I ask, his explanation is just too simple to get around! This is probably a result of him preparing with Ursula: she wanted to hear my whole version of events earlier in the trial so she could craft an alibi around it when I made my move. She's definitely still two steps ahead._

"You're making that face again, son," Fado said, eyes on the witness.

"Is it that obvious?"

"You can't be stumped so early, lad. You can put something together, here. I know you can."

"It's not as easy for me as it is for you, sir."

"Think of it as an exercise of your skills, then. There's no such thing as the perfect crime, lad: everybody makes mistakes. Do you think there's a small mistake our witness might have made?"

"I have no idea."

"Then take a guess. You won't be any worse off than if you had said nothing."

 _How can a man inspire so much and so little confidence at the same time?_

"Mr. Scaltro," said Robin, "did you remember to pay your bill when you left the café?"

"Objection," Ursula called out, rolling her eyes, "absolutely irrelevant. Whether or not he paid will not change the witness's guilt in the murder of Ms. Viscount. There is no need to answer that question."

"I don't care," said Naesala, smirking at Robin, "No, I forgot. Tell you what, Mr. Attorney: I'll go pay 'em tomorrow. You can even come with me, if you want. Never known anyone to get so bent outta shape over the cost of a cup of coffee."

Several people in the gallery laughed, and Robin felt hot embarrassment pooling in his cheeks. Fado glanced down at his side for just a moment.

Ursula smiled and put her hand on her hip, pleased with her witness's wit. She projected this smile at Robin, and he squinted against its light.

 _That didn't go well. To think, so much of this trial has been all centered on a little thing like a cup of coffee, and it keeps coming up. Although, now that I think of it, there's something not quite right about that—a cup of coffee. Why does that strike my ear wrong?_

"I think even the defense has run out of bluster for this court," Ursula said, standing back, "You really did perform admirably, Mr. LeBlanc. It has been quite some time since I was last so delayed in arriving at a verdict—I'll be studying my notes on this trial for weeks. But, unfortunately, all things must come to an end, and this ridiculous false narrative you've peddled must likewise conclude. I admit that you concocted a very plausible scenario, reaching in and rearranging details as you'd like, but you must realize now that things are not so complex as you attempted to make them seem. The fact is simple. After all, as I told you, I am always in complete control of my trials. I never miss a single detail. There is not one explanation I have not considered and prepared myself to combat."

 _Urgh. Her self-assured attitude is really grating in such a long trial, but she has the ability to back up some of that bragging. There really hasn't been any explanation I've offered that she hasn't been in some way prepared to argue. Was this trial lost before it even began?_

"You're getting too worked up over the prosecutor," Fado said, his face expressionless. "Your job isn't to beat the opposition, lad. It's to drag out the truth, however you need to. Concentrate on the case, not the one presenting it."

"Yes, sir." _Fado's right. If my suppositions are correct, I'm looking at the criminal right now, and that means he must have lied about something, however trivial. Or… maybe he didn't lie. Maybe not intentionally, anyway. Maybe, in trying to mask the truth, he accidentally changed a detail that will reveal something. Wait, I think that's it!_

"Is your cross-examination finished, Mr. LeBlanc?" asked the judge, "If so, I believe the jury is prepared to render their verdict at any time."

"Not yet, Your Honor," Robin said. Ursula frowned at him and Naesala smirked, shaking his head. "Mr. Scaltro," the attorney continued, "allow me to repeat a few of your remarks for the court: you just said that you had 'Never known anyone to get so bent outta shape over the cost of a cup of coffee,' when asked about your failure to pay your bill. Is that right?"

"Yep. And it remains true," said the witness, shrugging. A few more laughs came from the gallery.

"Then I have another important question to ask, Mr. Scaltro: why did you say 'coffee?' Because you didn't drink any coffee while you were at the café."

One of Naesala's eyebrows shifted up. "What?"

"If you refer back to the security footage," Robin said, "You can look at the spot where we found you exiting the main room, Mr. Scaltro. Notice what's on the table there: water and bread, but no coffee to be found."

The witness was silent, but he was no longer smiling.

"Objection!" Ursula shouted, "What's to say the witness didn't simply have some coffee before his water?"

"We can rewind the tape to when he entered, if you'd like," Robin replied, "but judging from the look on the witness's face, he knows I'm right."

"Don't be too pleased with yourself" Ursula slammed her fist on her desk. "What possible relevance could this detail have to the case at hand? So the witness forgot what he drank that day? What does that matter?"

"The court will recall the method by which Ms. Viscount was poisoned… perhaps that's the reason for the witness's specific lapse in memory…"

"Objection!" Ursula's frown had melted back into a smile, but her eyes were still burning. "Ha! Don't make me laugh! What a tremendous leap in logic! The witness remembers drinking coffee, the victim was killed by drinking poisoned coffee, ergo the witness must be the murderer! Are you even listening to yourself?"

Robin swallowed. "It's an admittedly, er… loose connection, but—"

"'But' nothing. How you even managed to pass the bar with such poor reasoning skills is beyond me. Don't make me rescind all the offers of respect I just gave you, Mr. LeBlanc. Concede defeat with some of your dignity intact."

 _Damn. I thought that was my way out. It wasn't much, but I thought if I could just get it to stick…_

"You're losing 'em fast, kid," said Fado.

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Fine: you give up now, and the momentum will swing permanently in the prosecution's favor. This is the only thing you've got right now, so seize on it. Double down. Sink your teeth into it and hold on for dear life."

 _Double down? How? It was just a little detail about him being at the café! Could he have missed anything else?_

"If that's all, then—" the judge began.

"Wait! Just a moment, Your Honor!" Robin protested.

The judge grumbled, "You know, if you have something more to say, you should just say it instead of always waiting to interrupt me."

"Er, beg your pardon, Your Honor," said Robin, "but this is important—crucial, even!"

"Very well, proceed."

"Mr. Scaltro, something else I noticed from this tape: you get up, don't speak to any of the waitstaff, and go right to the bathroom—at least, so you say. That's a bit strange. According to Ms. Arealla, the bathroom's location in the back of the building, behind the kitchen, is confusing to a lot of patrons, and she has to explain it to many of them on a daily basis. Why did you get up and go right back there?"

"I want a hit of whatever you're on, kid," Naesala said, shaking his head derisively, "I'm pretty familiar with the Posto Ladro. I go there often enough, so I know where the stupid bathrooms are."

"O-Oh, really? What's your favorite dish?"

Naesala laughed. "You think you're gonna screw me up with that stupid video again? Yeah, I had some bread while I was there, but that's not my favorite. I was just popping in for a little snack. Usually, I go in for breakfast and get coffee and biscotti. That's my favorite."

"Can we be done with these stupid questions now, defense?" Ursula scowled at the attorney. "I don't much like having my time wasted like this."

 _Gulp. I guess this is it. I tried to come up with something, Fado, but it looks like I'm just not quite at your level. I guess losing when I'm this far along isn't so bad… I can say I put up a hell of a fight…_

"Ah! Ahhh! AHHHHH!"

The court turned around to search for the source of the disruption. A certain big-figured, green-maned man rose from his seat, shouting as his pupils shrank.

"Silence, you oaf!" Ursula snapped, "Your interruptions are disturbing this court, and my patience has worn terribly thin!"

"B-But, but…!" Dozla stammered, "What he just said, it can't be!"

"If you don't sit down and be quiet, I'll silence you myself!" she growled.

"Just a moment," the judge said, staring down at the excited witness, " _I_ hold the highest authority in this courtroom. Mr. Spokony, your remarks are indeed disruptive. I will invite you to explain yourself, but if you have been interrupting my court for trivial matters, I will not be very kind to you."

"R-Right," Dozla said, his eyes darting everywhere, "but listen here: that fella just said his favorite dish was biscotti! That can't be, because I've never made biscotti for anyone in the place 'cept Little Leila!"

Ursula's eyes jumped open and her mouth dropped. Naesala's eyes did the same, but his lips creased into a frown. The judge's brow raised only a little, and, at once, the rest of the gallery began crowding the air of the courtroom with whispers.

"That's right," Robin said, recalling aloud, "Dozla testified that Leila asked him to make her biscotti a few weeks after she started visiting the café regularly, and that he didn't make it for anyone but her. That's two very particular mistakes from our witness…"

Ursula shouted, "Your Honor, please have that man held in contempt! His statement changes nothing about the facts of this case. The witness misremembered his favorite dish? What _possible_ significance could that have to a _murder_?!"

"That old coot is talking nonsense," Naesala added, "I've definitely eaten biscotti there before. Maybe his addlepated old mind just isn't registering it, but it happened."

"Even if it meant something, the defense cannot prove that the witness never ate biscotti in the café, so may we _please_ move along?" Ursula asked, tapping her foot.

The judge rapped his gavel on his desk. "I am afraid that I concur with the prosecution. Mr. Spokony's remarks offer this court very little in terms of evidence, and so, for disrupting this trial, he will be held in contempt until its conclusion. Bailiff, please escort the witness out of my court."

As the bailiff obeyed, Dozla looked about the room frenziedly, then suddenly glowered with contempt at Naesala, perhaps realizing the same thing Robin had been trying to establish. His scowl sagged into a pathetic sadness as he took one long look at the defense bench before being dragged off.

 _He's getting it now, too. Thank you, Mr. Spokony. With your help, I'm sure I can make something happen here. I won't waste this opportunity._

"Robin," Fado addressed his protégé, "I think it might be prudent, at this point, to reexamine an aspect of our investigation that we've been ignoring."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Profiling a criminal requires three things. What are they?"

"Motive, means, and opportunity, sir."

"Good lad. Now, if the thunderstorm and the 'blackout' provided the opportunity, and disguising himself as Forde and sprinkling some poison into the victim's drink was the means for our criminal, what are we left with?"

"Motive. Why did he do it?

"Exactly. We spoke about this with Pelleas, but we never really reached a satisfactory conclusion. Well, we've got our suspect. What are your thoughts now?"

"I… I don't know. As far as anyone knows, Naesala was a total stranger to Leila. She was carrying those documents, but for someone to know about that, they would have needed to be privy to the fact that she was a spy."

"Mm-hm." Fado nodded. "So, you don't think Naesala had any personal motive to kill her?"

"If he did, I can't think of one."

"And what does that tell you?"

"Huh? It tells me nothing."

"Wrong. Think harder. Let your imagination flow a little. Why would a total stranger dress in a waiter's outfit to poison a girl under cover of dark? It's not exactly a crime of passion."

"No, it's pretty elaborate. Careful. Almost… rehearsed. Wait. No—you think…?"

"Poison is always an intriguing weapon of choice," said the older attorney, raising his eyebrows.

"So, the answer is… Naesala didn't have any motive at all—someone else did!"

"Thatta boy."

"Someone else gave Naesala orders to do this! Someone who knew about the documents! But, if that's the case, then… Naesala kept insisting that he wasn't happy to be in court, and I think he was telling the truth. It took a long time to prepare him for the trial, almost like he wasn't expecting to end up here, even though he was the killer. That must mean that somewhere along the way, we happened on a mistake that he made."

"Like I said, 'there's no such thing as the perfect crime.'"

"But what could it be? What wasn't Naesala expecting?"

"Perhaps it's more relevant to ask, 'what _was_ he expecting?'"

"Right. Something he expected to happen, but didn't quite go as planned. Oh, I know! He was planning to knock Forde out in the employee lounge, but he didn't know that Forde was already going to be ill and passing out, which prompted Dozla to check on him. That forced him to replace the body quickly and get rid of his disguise, which caused him to get stuck in the café when the exits were blocked!"

Fado wore a long smile. "I think you may have the right of it, my boy."

"So, the question is, can we find any evidence from that mistake? Anything that points right to Naesala?"

Fado shook his head. "I don't think so. Too much of this trial has relied on a lack of exact knowledge of people and places. You have managed to prove this much, however: only three people were in the back of the café at the time the lights went out: Dozla, Forde, and now Naesala."

"Ah, I get it! So, if I can prove that the murder was committed by someone in the back that wasn't Dozla or Forde, then the only reasonable conclusion is that it was Naesala!"

"Process of elimination is a real dastard when it wants to be."

"But how can I possibly do that?"

"I think now is a good time to roll up your sleeves and dig back through the evidence, lad. You're almost there."

"Fado, do you know?"

"You have to be able to do some things on your own, lad. The chips are down right now, so what will you do? Will you be resolute and scour the court record on your hands and knees until you find something, or will you let it slip from your fingers?"

 _Gods, no pressure. Still, he's right. I'd have gotten nowhere in this trial without Fado's help. Now it's time to prove that I can do what I need to when it counts! Not to mention, for all he was saying, I think Fado was still trying to give me a hint just then… Get ready, Pelleas, your liberation is at hand!_

"Now that we're finished with those unpleasant proceedings, I'd like to suggest we move on to the verdict," said Ursula, eyes shut and arms tightly folded around herself.

"Any objections, Mr. LeBlanc?" the judge offered.

"As a matter of fact, yes," answered the rookie attorney.

Ursula only scoffed.

"Very well," the judge said, massaging his drooping eyes, "what will it be this time, Mr. LeBlanc?"

"I'd like to review a few facts first." There were several groans from the gallery. "My client, Pelleas Apoleus, is accused of poisoning the victim, Leila Viscount, with liquid cyanide, which she drank, presumably after it was introduced to her coffee. We now know, however, that in the time that provided the window of opportunity the prosecution uses to make that allegation, Naesala Scaltro was moving around the back of the café. We also know that at that exact time, Dozla Spokony was still cooking in the kitchen, and Forde Willow had passed out in the employee lounge."

"Is this going somewhere?" asked Ursula, treating it as an imposition.

Robin nodded. "Two key elements led the police and the prosecution to believe my client was guilty of poisoning Ms. Viscount: there was a bottle of cyanide in his front pocket, and there were traces of cyanide on his cuff."

"Two facts which are indisputable evidence, Mr. LeBlanc," said Ursula, "What do you hope to gain by restating them?"

"I had a question back near the beginning of this trial, and it had been plaguing me until this point. Now I finally understand. If you take a look at the traces of cyanide found on Mr. Apoleus's sleeve, you'll notice that there is a strange flat line at the end of the area where the reactive fluid colors the garment. Why would that be?"

Ursula rolled her eyes. "It doesn't matter. Nothing you say will change the fact that cyanide was present on the defendant's sleeve."

"I'm glad you agree," Robin said with a smile, "but there can only be one reason for such a clear and unnatural shape to the trace of cyanide: something else must have also gotten stained with the same traces, shielding the area of the defendant's sleeve below like a shadow blocking out the sun."

"W-What?" Ursula clenched her teeth.

"Think about it: that Pelleas should spill cyanide on his own sleeve, covering his dominant hand, makes no sense, especially with that sharp line, but if someone else's arm had been over his, dropping the poison from above, well, then that mark would not only be totally possible, we could even match up the other garment onto which the poison had been spilled!"

Naesala shifted his posture at the stand.

"Objection!" Ursula shouted, "How do you mean to prove this? I don't suppose you have the garment in question?"

Robin smirked.

"Urgh, enough, damn you! What are you getting at?"

"There's a piece of evidence that's been discussed in this trial quite a bit, but until now, no one has realized its real significance. To do that, we have to think back to what Detective Volke Mordel told us at the beginning of the trial about the cyanide on Pelleas's clothing: if left unattended, it could have bled right through the clothes and absorbed into his skin, killing him as well. Anyone using the cyanide would have known that, and so, if they had spilled cyanide onto themselves, they would have protected against it seeping through their clothes. How? Well, the good detective said it would be as easy as turning the garment inside-out."

"Where are you going with this?" Ursula demanded, "For you to suggest that there is some evidence that I, Ursula Verra, have not thoroughly examined… you will suffer greatly for your arrogance!"

Robin folded his arms. "I guess you weren't as comprehensive as you thought. The garment onto which the cyanide was spilled was none other than Forde Willow's uniform!"

"W-What?!"

"The court was led to believe that Forde threw it off in a heatstroke-induced daze, which is why it was found inside-out, but the truth is more sinister: after taking the uniform so that he could move throughout the café undetected, the killer accidentally spilled cyanide onto its sleeve and Pelleas's. Knowing what would happen if he didn't act quickly, the killer moved quickly back to the lounge and threw the uniform off, and then replaced Forde's unconscious body when he realized someone was coming to look for him!"

"Preposterous!" Ursula shouted, slamming her fist on her desk.

Robin leaned on his own desk and shouted in reply, "Oh, yeah? If it's so preposterous, then let's have the uniform tested for traces of cyanide, just like Pelleas's shirt! If that uniform tests positive for cyanide, then it's proof positive that not only could someone in the back of the café have killed Leila Viscount, they _must have_. And, what's more, two of the three people who were in the back of the café have strict alibis showing that they couldn't possibly have been moving around at the time: Dozla was still cooking, and it would have been impossible for him to wear Forde's uniform at his size, and Forde himself had fainted due to heatstroke by that time, unless the prosecution wishes to rescind that claim."

"W-What? N-No… That can't be. That would mean… then there could only…"

"Glad you finally see the truth, Ms. Verra." Robin pointed to the witness stand, "The truth is, there could only have been one person who wore the uniform, and who therefore killed Leila Viscount. That person is our witness, Naesala Scaltro!"

The court resounded with startled shouts and chatter. Ursula grit her teeth and began babbling something in a language no one could have understood, but that they wouldn't have wanted to if they could.

The judge pounded his gavel on his desk and demanded order. "These are grave charges indeed. Mr. Scaltro, have you anything to say in your defense?"

Robin looked at the witness. The young attorney had been smiling, feeling his brain and his muscles brim with the energy of his impassioned attack, but now, looking at the culprit he had uncovered, who was only giving him a disconcerted frown, Robin lost his smile.

The blue-haired man in the dark ensemble let out a long sigh. "Are you done?"

"What—"

"Good. Stop talking. You're out of your depth, kid. Acting so high and mighty at your age… you've got a lot to learn, and it looks like I have to be the one to teach you." The culprit sighed again. "My employer's not gonna be happy with this, but sometimes things just don't go as planned. That should be a lesson for you, too, kid."

"Mr. Scaltro," said the judge, "just now, you said 'your employer…' are you admitting that someone hired you to…?"

"Shut up, you buffoon!" Naesala barked, "I'm talking to the lawyer right now. What do you want, kid?" The black-clad man clapped his hands slowly. "Is this what you want? Applause? Recognition? A big ol' thumbs-up from mummy and daddy?"

"You—"

"No, stay quiet and listen, you idiot! What do you think you've done? You think you _got_ me? You're gonna call the bailiff in here to fit me for a pair of cuffs and have me thrown away? Because you argued it real good? Is that how you think the world works? Is that your plan?"

Robin didn't bother trying to say anything this time. He felt paralyzed by the criminal's tone.

"Well, like I said, sometimes think don't go according to plan. But I'm gonna teach you something valuable today, kid: professionals have plans. Experts, on the other hand, have contingencies."

Before anyone could ask what the raving man was suggesting, he reached into the front of his coat and whipped out a pistol. Robin saw the metal gleam under the fluorescent lights as it came forward. In a moment, Robin realized the barrel of the weapon was pointed squarely at him.

"I'm gonna show you exactly how powerless you really are." Naesala stared hard at the attorney, his index finger sliding along the pistol's trigger.

"Bailiff!" the judge shouted.

Naesala shifted his arm to the side and fired a round, plugging the approaching bailiff in the face. In almost the same motion, taking less than a second, he aimed over the young attorney's shoulder again and fired another round. This one struck Pelleas in the face, and he toppled to the ground. Robin's eyes grew wide and he felt his whole body go cold as he watched his client sink to the floor with a bleeding hole in his head.

Naesala began taking a step toward the defense bench.

"Robin," Fado said in a low tone alien even to his protégé, "I want you to run as fast as you can, right now."

Robin wanted desperately to follow that advice, but his feet felt glued to the floor, and he found himself looking helplessly back and forth between his murdered client and his murderer. When the assassin got close, Fado charged around the desk, preparing to shoulder-tackle the assailant, but he, too, was toppled by a well-placed shot that struck him in the shoulder. Naesala reached the defense bench, grabbed Robin by the collar, and dragged him out from behind the bench with him. He pressed the barrel of the gun to Robin's temple, and all Robin could feel was the cold impression it made on his flesh. He saw Pelleas's body one last time as he was being dragged away, and then he seemed to go blind. He might have gone deaf, too, because Naesala seemed to be saying something—more mockery, perhaps—but Robin couldn't hear a word of it. His face was expressionless and transfixed.

All at once, Robin regained his hearing and his sight as he was thrown forward. They were near the lobby's entrance. Robin heard a car engine humming behind him. As he fell and hit his head on the marble floor, he heard the engine rumble as the car sped off, and the sounds of police sirens screeching after it. Then he lost consciousness.

[April 17th, 9:18 pm, Hope's Heart Hospital]

Robin woke up, his vision fading in from white. He looked around and let his eyes adjust to the dark of the room. A figure on his left side seemed to shift, realizing his eyes were moving.

"I think he's awake," the figure said. Robin eventually recognized it as Anna's voice.

"You all right, son?" said another, approaching the bed the attorney was laying on. This one he knew straight away to be Fado. "Can you hear me?"

"I hear you," he said, his voice dry and cracking in his throat.

"Thank gods. That was… quite the scene, kid. You… shouldn't have had to see something like that in your first trial. In any trial. What you saw is the end-product of a legal system in need of change. I'm just glad it didn't end your career before it started."

"Pelleas," Robin murmured, his memory returning, "what happened…?"

Fado frowned at the floor. "The doctors tried their best, but… kid was dead before he hit the ground."

"I was… useless," Robin said, "I could have done something… you told me to run, but I didn't, and—"

"That's enough, lad. Don't go blaming yourself for what some ruthless murderer did. You did absolutely everything you were supposed to do, and there's nothing more you were expected to do, you understand?"

"He shot you too, Fado. I'm really useless… I wasn't even hurt, and here you are, up before me. I can't…"

"Robin." His tone was low and firm. "I know you're in a delicate place right now, so I don't want to yell, but I'm telling you right now that none of this reflects on you. Naesala Scaltro is a scoundrel and a murderer, and you are absolutely not to blame for his behavior."

Robin blinked. He looked up at the ceiling. Slowly, he felt the room getting colder. The air was still as no one spoke.

"Fado," said the young attorney. His mentor raised his eyebrows, inviting him to go on. "I… I don't think I'm ready to handle litigating in court. Not yet."

Fado's expression shifted back to grave. "I'm sorry you feel that way, but I understand. I respect your wishes, Robin. We'll wait a few months to give you a new trial, or until you feel ready, all right?"

"Thank you."

"Sure. Now, get some rest, eh, son? You need to get your strength back."

"Okay." He turned his head on the pillow. It wasn't comfortable.

"I'll call you first thing tomorrow morning, all right?"

"Yes, sir."

He heard Fado trying to whisper. His mentor didn't realize that he was still audible at that volume. "All right, I have to get back, or the missus will kill me. They didn't report any significant injuries, just some minor trauma from hitting the floor. Any damage, they said, is probably going to be more psychological."

"Poor kid," he heard Anna say, her voice also not quite low enough, "Damn. His first real day on the job. What the hell… I can't even imagine."

"It's horrible. But I think he'll make it through. I helped him once already. He has a lot of potential. More than you might think."

"All I'm thinking is what an ass I've been to the kid."

"Don't you go beating yourself up, too. You've always been a bit suspicious of new hires, and not without good reason, but this is a good chance to remember why cutting people slack is important, too."

"I feel terrible."

"We all do. Him most especially, I think."

"You said you were gonna call in the morning?"

"Definitely. Thinking plans through?"

"Yeah. Don't let me keep you."

"All right. Good night, Anna."

"G'night, sir."

The door to the hospital room closed. A machine near Robin's head buzzed in a low tone. The vent in the corner of the room near the window began spewing cold air into the already frigid room. Robin's eyes wouldn't close.

"Hey, uh… You still awake?"

Robin looked up at Anna. "Uh-huh," he grunted.

"Listen… I know I've been a little standoffish. Fado's had partners try to steal from the company before, or ruin his reputation by sabotaging him. That's a consequence of being a world-renowned defense attorney, and that's why I have to be careful."

Robin didn't say anything.

"But I was too hard on you, and I was wrong. So… I'm sorry. You're a full member of our team from now on, and I'll treat you like I'd treat any of Fado's associates."

"It's good that you're so protective of him. I wish I could have been likewise."

"Hey, listen—"

"Fado's more than my mentor. He saved me from… a bad spot in my life. I became an attorney because of him."

"He _does_ have that effect on people."

"Is that why you work for him?"

"Kinda. His family and mine worked close together way back when. I've known him since I was pretty young."

Robin didn't say anything. His eyes felt heavy.

"Do… do you want me to stay?"

"Huh?"

"Would you feel more comfortable if I stayed here with you overnight?"

Robin thought about it. He pictured the cold, dark room being empty save for him, lying in the uncomfortable bed. "Yes."

"Okay." She stretched out and reclined in the chair she was sitting in. She let out a quick yawn and said, "I'll stay right here, then."

Robin rolled over on the bed, yanking a blanket over his shoulder.

[*]

[The present… October 28th, 7:02 pm, LeBlanc & Co. Law Offices]

"…And that's about all there is to tell," Robin finished, "I ended up going back to work for Fado, of course, but it was never really the same after that. For a while after that happened, I would have moments where I felt overwhelmed, and then it would snowball until I had that same feeling, like I was being held at gunpoint all over again, and the stress would make me faint. That's what happened in your trial."

"Gods," Morgan said, staring blankly at her employer's desk, "I'm so sorry, Boss. That's horrible."

"It happened. It's over now."

"But you can't let that be the end of it! You can't just bottle it up and act like nothing's wrong!"

"Morgan, I'm fine. I had some trouble before, but it's under control now. I'll get by, like I always have."

Morgan pouted, and then set about thinking. "I can't believe I thought you wouldn't understand my situation. First the whole convicted murderer thing, now this. You've… had a kinda rough life, huh, Boss?"

"Not that much rougher than others," he answered, smiling.

Morgan wasn't. She frowned. "If you say so, Boss."

"Anyway," Robin went on, rising from his desk and shaking out his legs, "it's getting late. We should have closed the office down an hour ago."

The pair walked out of Robin's office and into the main room, only to see Anna scurrying over to her desk to grab her things.

"Anna," Robin called out to her, "You're still here?"

"Oh, yeah!" she chirped back, "Musta lost track of time, ha ha! I'll just grab my stuff, and…"

"…Anna, were you listening in?"

"…No."

"Anna."

"Maybe just a little. And by 'a little,' I mean 'all of it.'"

Robin sighed. "I suppose it's nothing you didn't already know."

"Actually, there was a lot about that case Fado never told me. He basically put a moratorium on mentioning it as soon as you came back to work."

"Can't say I'm not glad."

"Robin… do you feel okay? It wasn't too upsetting to go back through that, was it?"

"No, I'm all right. Actually, it was kind of cathartic. I've been hiding from it for so long, I'm glad to have read through it again, having a little critical distance."

"Well, good. As long as you're not freaking out."

He waited in silence a few seconds. "You can head out, if you like. I think Morgan and I are just going to order pizza and hoagies tonight."

She thought and gave him a little smile. "Which place?"

"Abello's. The one with the 'Panther Po' Boy.'"

Anna giggled. "I like that one. Why don't you get me something, too? We'll make it a little office party."

"Are you sure? I don't wanna keep you away from home."

"This place basically _is_ my home by now. Besides, I'm never really doing anything by myself…"

"What's that?"

"N-Nothing! I… uh, I said I'll go grab the menu from the shelf."

"All right, go on. Morgan, you go with Anna and figure out what you want, okay?"

"You got it, Boss! Whatever it is, I want it loaded with banana peppers!"

The smaller redhead darted after the taller one into the corner of the main room that held the office phone. Robin walked over to the trash can and, looking to each side, reached down into it to pull out the crumpled file. In bold black ink that had been smudged over time, the file read "NAESALA SCALTRO." Robin walked into his office with it, threw it on the desk, and walked back out. A prison name and designation number was listed at the bottom of the page.

 _So I finished reliving my past with Morgan. She's a good listener, so I'm sure she soaked it all in. I wasn't lying when I spoke to Anna, either—I really did feel relieved after reading through the whole case again, as strange as that may seem. To see it in such abstraction, it made it feel real again in a safe way. For a while, I was almost fighting myself to believe it had been some kind of nightmare I had made up, but now I can face it again. It was good that I got over it when I did, because things were falling into place. I started to look into Naesala Scaltro's records again, thinking I might find something else to help me get over the past. Little did I know, what I was about to find was going to give me something much bigger to explore…_

[Turnabout Collapse ~ End]


End file.
